


Love & War

by thereyoflight



Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Denial of Feelings, Dissociation, Dual POV, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, Enemy Lovers, F/M, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Forbidden Love, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Visions, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Knife Play, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Internal Conflict, Lesbian Merrin (Star Wars), Light Masochism, Lightsaber Battles, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Murder, Non-Graphic Smut, Original Character(s), Post-Order 66, Power Dynamics, Psychological Trauma, Redemption, Sexual Tension, Soulmates, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order Spoilers, The Force, The Force Ships It, The Last Jedi Parallels, Torture, Trauma, Violence, Vomiting, because it deserved to be explicitly canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 66,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25430437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereyoflight/pseuds/thereyoflight
Summary: Cal Kestis thought the lines between good and evil were as defined and clear-cut as they could ever be. But as the Force continues to connect Cal and his supposed enemy, Trilla Suduri, he begins to question if he had ever been right at all.Or, what if Cal Kestis and Trilla Suduri had a force bond throughout the events of Jedi: Fallen Order?
Relationships: BD-1 & Cal Kestis, Cal Kestis & Merrin, Cal Kestis & The Mantis Crew, Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister, Caltrilla - Relationship, Cere Junda & Trilla Suduri | Second Sister, Ilyana/Merrin (Star Wars), Trilla Suduri | Second Sister & Original Character(s)
Comments: 111
Kudos: 289





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rednblackdiamonds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednblackdiamonds/gifts).



> For Katy, who heard this story first.
> 
> This work was named after the song "Love and War" by Fleurie, and there's going to be lyrics from the song at the start of every chapter.
> 
> This is essentially going to be a Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order (loose) Novelization that keeps the main plot points of the game in place with a Trilla Suduri storyline and enemies to lovers.

**“** _I’m next in line._ **”**

**Bracca, 14 BBY**

Cal watched, mesmerized, as the dark, masked figure approached them. His eyes scanned the other stormtroopers closing in on them. They all wore uniforms as dark as night with the threatening, bright red symbol of the Empire on them. Everything about them shimmered with power and strength, but his eyes couldn’t focus on them long. His attention had once again turned to the woman approaching them, clad with a long cape and a mask from nightmares. She should have terrified him, he knew, but he wasn’t scared.

Instead, he found himself intrigued. 

He had been nearly trembling moments before, but something had stilled inside of him in response to her presence. Something about her was different from the rest, but that was evident enough. She was in a different place of power from her fellow colleagues, the same as the looming figure pacing behind her, but that wasn’t what struck him. What puzzled him beyond belief was the familiarity he felt about her, almost like he’d known her from somewhere. He knew that couldn’t be the case because he would never forget such an encounter, but he still couldn’t get rid of the overwhelming truth in such a feeling. He _knew_ her, and he also didn’t. 

Cal watched her stop suddenly, her head turning toward him. Although he couldn’t see her eyes past the mask that obscured her face, he could feel her gaze over him with the same curiosity. Recognition shot through him, proving his feeling right, but he couldn’t place what it was.

When she started speaking, he knew he was in deep trouble.

Cal’s insides ran cold at her words. _Summary execution,_ he thought with horror, _as if we’re nothing more than the dirt beneath their feet_. The stormtroopers present took their stance and turned their weapons toward them. Even from all the years of repressing his Force abilities, Cal could feel the swift change of fear morphing into absolute terror. The scrappers stepped back, panic alight in their eyes, and exchanged shocked murmurs of confusion amongst themselves.

But Cal knew what they didn’t.

They were here for him. He had led them here, and he’d be damned if he would let anyone die for his cowardice. His hand itched towards his saber. 

Prauf stepped forward bravely. Cal reached a hand out toward him in surprise. He wanted to yell at him, to scream that he had this under control, and to stand down, but his words died in his throat. Prauf, his best friend, his _only_ friend, looked at him sympathetically. _Trust me_ , he felt Prauf say, but Cal knew this was no place for such a thing. This wasn’t just dangerous, but it was also incredibly stupid. 

But Prauf had always been selfless that way, far too much for his own good. 

Cal only hoped he wouldn’t pay for having such kindness.

+

The Second Sister stepped off the landing pad and landed before him with grace, her descent to the ground softened by the Force. “Going somewhere?” she asked, igniting her lightsaber.

The image of her saber cutting through Prauf’s torso flashed across his vision, and his chest ached. Prauf was the first person he had trusted after everything had been torn away from him. And now, he had been ripped away, too. 

He pushed the thought away.

Cal’s hand closed over his saber and ignited it, feeling the hum of its brilliance in his hand. He had managed to open himself up to the Force, but it was nothing compared to the oneness he used to have with it when he was a Padawan. And yet, even with the small fraction of an opening, he could feel everything more heightened than before. It was jarring to experience it once again, to feel it coursing through his veins and guiding him.

But even more shocking was the unmistakable draw he felt towards the Second Sister, one he felt mirrored in her. It was as if they were made of nothing more but magnetic stars, set on a collision course to crash into each other in one dazzling, colorful mess. 

“I recognize that stance,” she observed. “Perhaps you’ve had some training after all. Who was your master, Padawan? Someone I killed, perhaps? What Jedi gave their life so that you might live?”

Cal only stared at the Second Sister in disbelief and confusion. Her words were heavy with contempt and insult, but he felt the meaning of them to be far different. They hung with unspeakable pain, and further, a sense of betrayal forever embedded in her like a knife. 

But facing her, he had no time for hesitation.

He lunged. 

The Second Sister was quick and agile, and Cal could tell she had years of vigorous training under her belt. Facing that amount of experience with the little he’d received set his teeth on edge. He found himself stumbling, pushed back by the force of her attacks, and he knew this fight wouldn’t last long if his supposed saviors didn’t intervene soon. 

Even in the heat of battle, Cal could feel the connection between them roiling and churning with energy. The Second Sister dove for another strike, and he rose his saber to block the attack. Something between them relented and resisted, and both she and Cal stumbled back. As their sabers met again in a clash of blue and red, she peered into him. Cal knew she felt it — a bubbling beneath the surface, something alive and ancient between them. 

He felt confusion ripple through her, and she faltered. “It’s you,” she said, and even through the mask, he could hear the shock in her words.

 _Me?_ he was on the cusp of asking, but he knew it was true. Whatever was between them was no foreign thing. They both had felt it once before, sometime, someplace…

The platform exploded, launching them both into the air. Cal landed hard on his shoulder, and he gasped in pain. He forced himself up as the mysterious woman that promised him getaway returned yet again, armed with a blaster, and urged him on board. He forced himself to run and get to the gurney, but once he did, he turned back to see the Second Sister’s red saber ignited in the smoke of the explosion that had torn them apart.

The woman aimed and fired her blaster. Something had changed about the Second Sister’s demeanor, and she dodged the blaster fire with ease. Cal couldn’t take his eyes off her, his mind reeling over her words: _It’s you._

The woman took hold of his arm and hauled him into the ship. “Get on board, now!”

Cal watched the two strangers inside the ship. One was a woman, older than him by an unknown amount of years, and the other was a four-armed Latero. He could feel their panic in the air as they attempted their escape. 

They had barely gotten into the air when the Second Sister arrived again. She hung over the ship’s main window, and Cal could feel her fiery gaze on him. He watched as she extended a hand, using the Force to pull the steering wheel of the ship to one side. The ship spun wildly underneath her power, and Cal was sure he was going to be sick. The woman ran forward and turned the steering wheel, causing the Second Sister to lose her balance and fall through the air. 

They jumped into hyper-space.

They took a moment of silence in rattled bafflement at having escaped the Empire’s clutches. Cal fought to catch his breath from such a shaking event, but he couldn’t manage to settle his nerves. Even though they had lost the Second Sister, Cal still couldn’t shake the feeling that she remained close by. He could feel her presence, full of vengeance and rage and utter agony, pressing close to him. As if she were only breaths away from him, only _inches_. 

As if something had awoken between them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankful for all the love and support this got for the first chapter! I’m super excited to be writing this, and I hope you love the story I tell with Trilla and Cal.

**“** _My supply is running out._ **”**

**Fortress Inquisitorius, Nur, 14 BBY**

The Second Sister stormed into her quarters. Her veins coursed with fire and her hands trembled. She tore her helmet off, exposing her true identity… the same identity she had been faced with just minutes before. 

She stood in front of her mirror in the refresher in her quarters, and Trilla Suduri stared back at her. It was the same face she saw everyday, but after seeing Cere again, she could see the cracked lines in her facade breaking open. She could feel her former self clawing her way back up to the surface, to freedom, and she shoved it down. Seeing her former master again had shattered something inside of her, something she had tried to suppress and erase for years through death and destruction. 

And still, it remained. 

She clutched the helmet in her hand and fought for breath. Her lungs constricted painfully with the shock and betrayal of it all, like she’d been punched in the gut. She glanced down at her helmet and willed herself to believe in who she had become, who Cere had made her to be. 

_This is not who you are._

Trilla screamed in frustration and slammed her helmet against the mirror, shattering it. Fragmented pieces of her reflection stared back at her. It was a resemblance of the person inside, broken and battered beyond belief, a destroyed shell of who she had once been. 

And then, there was the issue of the boy.

The Jedi. 

_Of course_ he was a Jedi. 

It would have been too easy if he hadn’t been the very remnant of an order that her job was to hunt down and kill. Despite herself, she felt tears prick in her eyes and the matter was evident enough. The boy would be the death of her, she knew, but not if she was the death of him first. 

Trilla stepped away from the shattered mirror and turned toward her chambers. She didn’t think twice and walked into her meditation chamber. Each meditation chamber was unique to each individual. Trilla’s was a dark room with a single stripe of blazing, red light leading to her meditation seat. It was the only source of light in the room, but she found that she needed the glare of garnet behind her eyes to keep her determination in place. 

She took her seat carefully, her legs crossed beneath her, and closed her eyes. She opened her awareness to the Force around her, and it shuddered in response. She dove headfirst into the connection she felt between her and the Jedi boy — the one that had allowed her to _remember_ , the one that had shown her a glimpse of pain in him that she so resonated with. 

Trilla knew better than to do such a thing, but she couldn’t help her desperation. The databases would only give her so much; she had to find him and end this once and for all, before he managed to bring her down with him. She needed him _gone_. 

Her hands clenched into fists as the images flooded through her mind. The pain was an onslaught that caught her off guard, but she pressed further. Each bit of information left her intrigued by the Jedi boy — Cal Kestis — and, even worse, aching for him. She had sensed his suffering and loss, but _feeling_ it so intimately made it so much more terrible. But she continued, mining at every inch of valuable information she could salvage, until she could bear it no longer. 

It was when she opened her eyes that she realized she was crying. 

+

Trilla pushed and pushed against the connection she felt with the Jedi, desperate for any semblance of his location, but it never provided such a thing. She knew whatever lay between them was the Force’s doing, but why was it there in the first place? What was the purpose of such a thing? It was the first time that Trilla had honed in on the Force, and it had resisted her request. But it wasn’t even resistance, she had to admit — it was nothing at all. It was if the Force had _ignored_ her request. 

But she wouldn’t give up so easily. 

Trilla devoted her time and energy to training, research, and meditation like never before, and each one was motivated by the Jedi. She took everything — the pain of Cere’s betrayal and the rage for feeling any source of compassion for the Jedi — out during her training, sparring ruthlessly with the Ninth Sister. Even with such a towering opponent, Trilla managed to be defiant against yielding, and it took her fellow Inquisitor by surprise. 

“You seem angrier, Second Sister,” the Ninth Sister observed. “Is it the Jedi that’s got you so worked up?”

Trilla gripped the staff in her hands. “He is a target,” she said, “a target that needs to be eliminated.”

“Yes,” the Ninth Sister crooned, “but I’ve never seen you quite like this over _any_ Jedi.” 

Trilla’s jaw clenched, despite herself. “He is dangerous to the Empire.”

“So you say,” the Ninth Sister said. “Be careful, Second Sister, that your personal interests do not interfere with the Emperor’s orders.”

Trilla glowered and lunged. 

If it wasn’t training or research, it was meditation. She had never spent so much time in her meditation chamber before, not to the extent that she was using it for the Jedi. She pressed further and further into the connection she shared with him, but she could never get any inkling as to where he was. All she felt was his anger and pain, running as deep as her own, and curiosity. 

Curiosity _about her_.   
  
One that mirrored her own.

When she wasn’t consumed by her training, Trilla followed every reported move of the Jedi closely. She spent hours refreshing databases, observing every report she could get her hands on. He’d gone to Kashyyyk and freed Wookies, so she showed up herself when she got the first wind of the news.

He hadn’t been there, and she was angry enough. 

Trilla took hold of a partisan with the Force, shoving her forward with ease in the air as she choked on air. Her weapon had fallen from her hands at the first graze of her power. Her satisfaction with her strength was gone and replaced with something that felt far more dangerous. 

“ _Where is he?”_ she demanded, her patience thinning. 

The partisan’s eyes were wide with fear. “He… He’s n-not he-here,” she choked out desperately. 

“Then you will pay for his absence.”

Trilla ignited her lightsaber, and the partisan choked on a muffled cry that was cut short as the saber swung down. She panted on the empty platform on Kashyyyk, void of nothing other than strewn bodies as a result of her anger. She knew he’d been here, not because of the database reports, but because she could feel his presence as clear and bright as the blazing sun. 

She knew he’d been to Zeffo beforehand, thanks to the databases, exploring an old Jedi tomb. He was searching for something, something her former Master had been searching for. 

But Trilla had to get her hands on it first, to bring glory to the Empire. 

So she returned to her TIE, placed the coordinates to Zeffo, and went on her way. When she landed on the planet, she knew she’d made the right choice. She could feel his presence clearer, no longer a mist that hung before her eyes. She stopped at the entrance of the Jedi tomb, aware of how the connection between them became heightened as he approached, and waited. 

She was growing obsessed with the Jedi, she knew, but someone needed to. Someone needed to feel the thrill of the chase in their veins. To thirst for the blood of the Jedi to be on their hands. To anticipate the fear in his pretty eyes when she finally had him in her grip, completely at the mercy she wouldn’t give.

Someone had to be as committed as she was, for the sake of the Empire.

Or, at least, that's what she told herself.


	3. Chapter 3

**“** _It’s time to leave._ **”**

**Zeffo, 14 BBY**

Returning to Zeffo was nothing short of odd. Cal felt it deep in his stomach—a gnawing feeling of danger—that only seemed to strengthen the farther he journeyed forward. He had come across stormtroopers and purge troopers, and he began to grow concerned that Inquisitors would join their rank. Wherever the Empire was, he was sure the Inquisitors were close behind, especially for a Jedi like him.

It didn’t help that he could still feel his connection with the Second Sister, so close, yet so far.

His only solace was the droid on his back, BD-1. Cere and Greez, the two crew members on the Mantis that saved him, had taken him to Bogano where he’d met the little droid. His mission and place in the war seemed clearer after the visitation to the planet, but Cal had to admit that the best part was being able to have a new friend with him along the way.

Cal stopped short before the elevator shaft that led down to the Jedi tomb. The gnawing in his stomach had collapsed into an everlasting pit. Something awaited him at the bottom, and he took a deep breath to prepare himself before stepping onto the platform. His heart raced as it descended, his hand grazing over his lightsaber at his side. The platform crawled to a stop, and suddenly, Cal could feel his connection with the Second Sister tremble in response.

The door opened to reveal just what he’d expected—the Second Sister. 

“Cal Kestis,” she greeted coldly. “How predictable.”

Shock settled over him at the sound of his name on her lips. He forced himself to breathe, to keep himself calm under the pressure he felt closing in on him. He should’ve expected this, anticipated it, even, but he couldn’t help his surprise. 

“Oh yes, I know your name,” she continued, as if reading his mind, pacing before him with ease. “Your past…”

Her manner said enough about how she felt towards him. She wasn’t threatened by him, not even slightly, but knowing their last encounter, he knew to expect a fight. At least that wouldn’t surprise him. 

“And most importantly, about Cordova,” she said, turning her back to him. “Tell me, where did he hide the holocron?”

Cal didn’t allow himself to panic over the truth she’d uncovered or how it could jeopardize his mission; instead, he ignited his saber. 

“Outstanding,” she said, turning on her heel and igniting her own.

The Second Sister waited patiently before him to strike, and the calmness in her stance made him even more annoyed. As if the connection between them wasn’t irritating enough. He advanced on and swung his saber, and she parried the strike with barely any effort. Gritting his teeth, Cal charged once again, but she had disappeared before his eyes and appeared across from him. Even though he couldn’t see her face, he could practically feel her smile beneath her mask. She was toying with him, and she was enjoying it.

 _This is sick,_ he thought, and the connection between them pulsed, like a reminder.

Cal gripped his lightsaber tightly and sprinted toward her. She managed to disappear and reappear a couple more times, but he was determined to stop her. He started to find ways to catch her off guard, causing her to stumble back in surprise, but he could feel her anger rising with every strike. Still, he fought with all the strength he could muster. She was fast, quicker than him, but his will was as strong as iron. The Second Sister hissed painfully as his saber ghosted across her skin, leaving a small, charred mark in her uniform. 

The injury was so small, so insignificant, but it was enough to push her over the edge. She had basked in her strength and power pridefully, and he had broken through it. A barely trained Jedi Padawan had torn through an experienced Inquisitor’s guard, and the Second Sister was enraged.

He felt the press of her anger give way to a surge of unbearable emotion, and he was nearly dizzy with the way it rushed through him from their mysterious connection. It was violent, worse than anything he’d ever felt before. And underneath it all laid defying compassion. 

He was hauled up into the air, throat constricted painfully, as the Second Sister honed in on the Force. He grunted in resistance, but there was no use. As soon as he accepted a swift death, he was thrown back with abhorrent force. His body crashed through something hard, and Cal could already feel bruises forming when he fell. He whimpered at the painful throbs running across his body, and he opened his eyes to see the Second Sister advancing on him for a killing strike. He gasped in surprise, forcing himself back, but her saber met a barrier field that cut through between them. 

Cal jumped to his feet and realized that BD-1 had saved him. The small droid was perched on a small control panel, its limb embedded in an electric slot. BD-1 had intercepted Empire tech, and it was a useful piece of information that Cal noted. 

The Second Sister retracted her saber’s blade and locked the hilt to her side, pacing before him once again. “You’re learning,” she said, sounding pleased. “Not quite as gifted as Cere’s last apprentice, but not bad.”

“You’ve been keeping count,” Cal observed, repulsed.

“I’m surprised she didn’t tell you,” she continued. “Cere was never good at keeping secrets.”

He nearly laughed. “And you know her so well, huh?” he challenged. 

The Second Sister chuckled darkly and faced him. “She was weak… cracked in an Imperial torture chair… surrendered the location of her naive Padawan. They would never have found me,” she said, pulling off her mask, “if it wasn’t for her.”

Her mask hit the ground with a thud, and the sound rippled through him at the sight of her. 

Cal’s lips parted in surprise. She was young, as young as he was, and beautiful. Dark hair grazed her shoulders and her eyes were a striking green that reminded him of life. Dark bags hung underneath her eyes, direct evidence of all the torment he’d sensed during their last encounter, and he could see the anguish in her eyes. His heart ached at the sight. They were both young and ravaged by a war so much bigger than themselves, one they had been unwillingly thrust into and forced to make terrible decisions in order to survive.

He knew nothing about her besides what she’d told him and what he felt from their strange connection, and yet, he could see so much of himself in her eyes. Cal had sensed a familiarity about her when they first met through whatever lay between them, but upon seeing her, it felt confirmed. _I know you_ , he thought, perplexed. _I know you from somewhere. I’ve seen you before._

“She betrayed me,” she said, and he could hear the painful edge in her tone.

He stepped toward her, unable to tear his eyes away from her. He remembered the story Cere had told him about being discovered with her Jedi Padawan, one that didn’t survive. The realization sent chills down his spine and left contempt rising within him. She had lied to him, and for what? To make sure he remained in her trust, blindly, without the knowledge of what her betrayal had done to someone? 

Cal had been curious about the mysterious, dark figure he had come face to face with on Bracca, that was true, but he had not expected something like _this_. 

“You’re Trilla,” he breathed.

“In the flesh.”

He observed her for a moment, and suddenly, all the agony and pain he’d felt from her slid into focus. It was Cere, all along, that had created this monster of a person before him. Intentional or not, there was no denying it. His blood boiled at the truth that washed over him, and he found himself feeling sympathy for her. _I don’t want your sympathy_ , he could imagine Trilla spitting at him, but even if there was more truth to that than anything else, Cal knew she wanted someone to see more of her than the monster she had tried to carve herself out to be.   
  
Old words, almost forgotten, came forward from the depths of his mind: _This is not who you are._

Cal pushed the thoughts away and turned away from her. He resented the effort it had taken to tear his eyes away, but he couldn’t let her get any further under his skin. Even if she was telling the truth. “I won’t let you manipulate me,” he said, stalking away from her. 

“So sure, are you?” she asked, and he stopped short. “When faced with the choice to protect herself or her Padawan, she chose self-interest. She’ll sell you out, too.”

Cal turned back toward her. “Well,” he said with a shrug and the hint of a smug smile. “I can handle myself.”

“Can you afford to take that chance? Your new master harbors great darkness. The look on her face when she saw what they had done to me, as I am now. She turned, exposing her true nature. She used... the dark side.”

He could feel the truth in her words. He knew she was telling the truth, and he didn’t want to believe a word of it. Enemies weren’t supposed to tell you the truth. _They aren’t meant to warn you, either,_ he thought to himself, _they aren’t supposed to worry for your safety._ And yet, he could feel the longing she felt for him through whatever bound them together. 

Cal doubted that Cere could go down the same path twice, not after what it had done to Trilla, but the look in her eyes still shook him. She had been destroyed by Cere’s betrayal, and he could sense that she didn’t want the same fate to befall on him. It sounded like manipulation, it sounded like the words of an experienced trickster, but he knew it was anything but. He could feel the turmoil within her beneath the surface of the facade she put up, the weight of it, and something that ran far deeper—a familiarity that she recognized in him, one that had rooted _concern_ in her for him.

A concern she hated herself for. 

He pretended not to see it, nor recognize it for himself. 

“She cut herself off from the Force,” he stated. 

“Oh? How long before she cracks and betrays you too? Is that who you want beside you when you find the holocron?” Her eyes glinted dangerously. “What would Jaro Tapal say?” she asked, her voice light with amusement. 

He stepped closer, his gaze unyielding. “You have no right to mention his name!” he said, his voice rising.

All the concern Cal felt for her was buried away in rousing anger at just the mention of his former Master’s name. He could barely believe that she knew something about his former life that struck so intimately, so personally, and he couldn’t even imagine what else she had managed to uncover. He was taken aback by how desperate she was for him to believe her, so much so that she would bring up something that had ended so traumatically for him. Surely, she knew what had happened, and that’s why she was bringing it up. It made him want to make BD-1 extinguish the barrier between them so he could release his anger at her. 

“I wonder what he would think if he could see his Padawan now,” she taunted, “skulking in the shadows with a betrayer, granting her access to a legion of impressionable students.”

Every lingering shred of concern in her voice had disappeared, and suddenly, they were back to being the enemies they were just as they were inching toward something else entirely. “ _No_ ,” he growled. “I won’t let anyone touch them.”

She turned away from him, reaching out to let her mask glide into her hands as she stalked away. “I thought the same thing once.” 

Cal watched her go, watched her disappear into the depths of the planet, his mind reeling over the reveal of her identity. How could Cere hide something like that from him, especially when he had faced Trilla himself? He turned toward the Jedi tomb and walked onward. He tried to shake off the aggravation and the other multitude of emotions he felt, but one thing remained.

More than anything, Cal felt defensive about Trilla and he supposed that was the most dangerous thing of them all. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not getting a chapter out sooner! I’ve been super sick for the past two weeks (and thankfully feeling loads better now) and I had to prepare for my summer term finals. I’ll be doing my best to get another chapter out sometime this week. Thank you for the continuous support and love 💗 Hope you enjoy!

**“** The clouds are hanging low. **”**  
 **Zeffo, 14 BBY** ****

He was so sensitive—and so full of righteous anger.

Trilla taunted him, prodding in all the places she knew would bother him the most. She relished in the way he squirmed underneath her words, in the way she felt his anger ignite like a fire. It was far too easy to get underneath his skin, like the rest of his kind, and it was like a twisted game. One that was used against her once, to destroy her piece by piece until she was nothing left but a shell of a human, but she held the power now.

And yet, for the first time in a long time, she found herself hesitating after her conversation with the Jedi. 

Trilla couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his lips had parted in surprise at the sight of her, his pretty eyes glinting over in shock, his body canting toward her. There was a startling vulnerability in the reaction, and something about seeing him like that, so taken aback, had ignited something inside of her. Suddenly, she seemed to understand the compelling danger and beauty of dying stars. They were bright and blazing, a fire of intricate color, that anyone would be intrigued by. It was so stunning that one didn’t realize it’s danger until it succumbed into a supernova.

Until it destroyed them entirely.

Trilla shoved the thoughts away. She needed to find another way around the planet to face him again, to stop him in his tracks before he escaped. She shouldn’t have thought that she could toy with him the way she had in their fight. He could have been at her mercy already if she hadn’t underestimated him. Even so, she found herself oddly grateful for the unfolding of events.

The truth was she wasn’t sure if she could kill him.

Trilla inexplicably thought of the Jedi as an Inquisitor, and what an excellent one he’d make. He harbored intense anger and suffering for what he’d endured, something he could use greatly as a form of power rather than weakness. She imagined the dark clothes he’d wear, fitted beautifully to his form, with red accents in all the right places. He would wield a red saber, like her own, and with the right training, he’d tear down even the strongest of the Rebellion. She was haunted by the image of him that way, the darkness that would light his eyes and the devilish grin that would accompany it. She could feel the flush in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the humid temperature of the planet, and she took a deep breath.

If she could not kill him, she would turn him. She would make him the most terrorizing nightmare the galaxy had ever seen. Together, they would be unstoppable, invincible, a force to be reckoned with. 

She made contact with the troops on the planet. “The Jedi is here,” she said. “He’s headed into the Jedi tomb. Trap him and capture him. I want him alive. I’ll be on my way.”

Trilla could feel the tether tying them together. She had felt his confusion and anger when she’d revealed her identity, when he realized what Cere had done. She’d felt the recognition that settled over him at the sight of her, the same one that she had experienced when she saw him on Bracca. And even more puzzling was that he had seen her in her entirety—broken and tortured and barely human—and he registered _beauty_. It was foreign and it reminded her of her younger years, cheeks red at the glances of girls and boys just as pretty as Kestis. But this was no longer a time of innocence or crushes—it was war.

And if they both allowed it, whatever bound them together, whatever allowed something to simmer between them, it would tear them both apart until nothing else remained. 

Once again, Trilla found herself pushing away thoughts of the Jedi. She turned her attention to the communications between the Jedi and the ship Cere used, suddenly grateful for all the extra hours she spent practicing such interceptions. It was far easier and faster than she anticipated. She switched the frequency to her normal communication unit and wasted no time in returning to her mission. 

“Report,” she called to the troops once again.

“Nothing yet.”

“Keep your eyes peeled.”

Trilla waited in anticipation for either a report of the Jedi or for him to contact her himself, but neither came fast enough. Her troops had surrounded the planet, and she knew he would contact his crew soon. It was only a matter of time for either, but it didn’t make the waiting any less frustrating. 

Suddenly, she heard the crack of the comm open, and that familiar voice filled her ears. “I found it,” Cal said, sounding exhausted. “But… Cere, why didn’t you tell me?”

She couldn’t help her smile. “Because she’s a liar.”

“You! How?”

“I rerouted communication the moment you tried to contact her,” she said simply. “Slicing encrypted transmissions was always a pastime of hers. She taught me once. There’s no technique Cere has that I haven’t perfected.”

Trilla felt his anger and frustration flare in the connection they shared, but he didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. She had him exactly where she wanted him, but even so, she had hoped to hear his voice again. To hear the panic in his tone, to feel the clear disdain he felt for her edging on hate, to feel the sympathy that still remained.

Something about it was intoxicating, almost addicting. 

“Second Sister,” a stormtrooper interrupted in her comm, drowning her thoughts away, “we found something at the rear of the tomb. You should see it.”

“I’m on my way.” 

+

The sarcophagus loomed in the tomb, stretching out across the expanse of space impressively. Vines had traveled and found pasture in edges and cracks across it, but it still garnered a fascinating hold. Gold gleamed across it, rusted in some places, glittering in others, and peeking through greenery in the rest. 

Trilla wanted to run her hand across it, but the edge she stood on was too far away and she wasn’t very eager to exert any more energy than she needed to in the possibility she might run into the Jedi again. 

“Is this it?” she asked the stormtrooper beside her.

He shrugged. “As much as we’ve found.”

She gave him a curt nod. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll be monitoring reports of the Jedi, but be prepared for anything. Keep looking.”

_One step closer._

She watched as her troops surrounded the tomb, searching for what other secrets they could scavenge within. Stormtroopers walked along the sarcophagus with delicacy, and Trilla was surprised that the ancient thing was holding up so well under their weight. Every Jedi structure had its secrets, it seemed. 

Trilla peered down below to the abyss that seemed to stretch for an eternity. The Jedi would be here soon enough, in search of the very artifact her troops were just moments away from finding. The scaling structure would be another game to play with him, to see what he was truly made of. It would be easy for her troops to be rid of him this way and fight him off to the edge until his body tumbled through nothing but air. She was sure that there wouldn’t be any pain besides a flash that left as quickly as it had come, and then it would be over. 

Simple.

Merciful, even.

But the mere consideration of such a thing was drowned out by guilt. It wasn’t the first time she had felt it, and it certainly wasn’t the last, but it was different this time. She had always felt the lingering shame after hurting someone, as if whatever remnant of them left behind had tainted something in her to carry forever, but the guilt that came with just the _thought_ of disposing of the Jedi so carelessly left her insides running cold and she nearly felt sick. 

She turned away from the sarcophagus, from her defiant thoughts, and toward the depths of the tomb. An idea formed in her mind. She could toy with him again, surely. Lead him on a wild goose chase. Distract him enough to not expect an ambush, and if things went as planned, get him to raise the damned Jedi tomb. 

Trilla made sure she got out of earshot of the stormtroopers behind her before she intercepted her communications with the Jedi. “You’re running out of time,” she said, pleased.

“For what?”

“My scouts located an artifact of interest at the rear of the tomb,” she continued. “Even now I’m studying it, learning his secrets. It seems Cordova was rather taken with Zeffo. Perhaps enough to hide the holocron amongst their bones.”

 _Not exactly a lie, but not necessary the truth either_ , she thought. 

“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly, but she could hear the annoyed edge in his voice, “we’ll see how much you learn.”

He cut the connection, a futile attempt at blocking her out, but she would break through it again when she saw it fit. She turned back to her troops who hadn’t noticed her brief absence, too occupied with the task at hand. She wasn’t sure how they would react if they knew the truth, if the other Inquisitors knew, but she could practically hear the Ninth Sister’s seething voice in her mind, chastising her about playing with her food. It would be better to keep it to herself to save herself the trouble. It would only last for as long as it took them to take what they needed on the planet and leave. 

Reports began flooding through her communications. The Jedi had been spotted and wreaked havoc in the heart of the tomb, following the shadows of her troops. He was getting ever closer to where she wanted, unbeknownst to him, and he would do exactly as she wanted. _Good_ , she thought. Whether he was captured or not, either outcome would be a gain to the Empire. 

Each stormtrooper that was cut down by the Jedi was being replaced by hordes of others that were arriving on the planet. Soon, they’d have him cornered, or so she hoped. He would have nowhere to turn, no shelter to run to, besides _her_. 

The haunting image of him flashed through Trilla’s mind again—the Jedi made Inquisitor. She would love to be the one to break him apart piece by piece, to see his past falling away like dust in the air. To hear his ragged breathing and ear-splitting screams under the device that would strip him down to _nothing_ , as it had done her. She could almost feel the way she’d grip his chin in the aftermath, forcing his gaze to meet hers with that icy look in his eyes. With that iron defiance still gleaming in his eyes with promise, despite the helplessness he would find himself in. Despite the inevitability of what he would become. How long would it take, she wondered, until he was as shattered as she was? 

She opened communications with him once again. “More of my soldiers breach this tomb every minute,” she said dully, pacing slowly before the sarcophagus.

“Afraid to face me yourself?” he snapped. 

Trilla remembered the way she had relished in the way he stumbled clumsily in their fight, his focus fighting to catch up to her movements. Then, to her surprise, he had broken through her impenetrable guard, _wounded_ her, and he had been satisfied. It had angered her beyond belief, and he had witnessed the terror of it firsthand when she nearly killed him, but she couldn’t deny that he could have held up a challenging fight if his droid hadn’t interrupted. 

The realization was thrilling—and it made her blood boil. 

“Had your droid not intervened,” she said smugly, “I would’ve killed you with ease.”

She heard the shrill beep of his droid from the other end. “It’s okay, buddy,” he responded, his tone light with amusement. “Just ignore her.”

She rolled her eyes. Not only was the Jedi absolutely infuriating, but he also had jokes. _Great_ , she thought hastily. 

More reports came through, quicker than the last. She could hear the alarm in her troops voices as they charged into action. Trilla’s jaw clenched as the reports were followed by silence. The Jedi was slaughtering her troops with ease. She needed to distract him, to throw him off, and what better person to do that than her? 

Trilla opened their comms again. “Imagine the artifacts the Empire would’ve missed if it weren’t for your intervention on this backwater planet,” she taunted, her hands balling into fists.

“Sure it’s worth the cost?” he replied. “I hear Project Auger came at a high price.”

His voice was cool and collected, and it struck her. His voice had been heavy with fatigue and turmoil after their fight, and she realized why. The fight between them had tested him, breaking apart all that he knew and questioning his alliances, but his fights against her troops had been the opposite. They’d revitalized him entirely, as if reminding him who the true enemy was. She certainly had a significant effect on him, the same he had on her. 

“Stormtroopers and workers,” she said. “Expendable resources.”

“You’re a monster,” he spat. 

Trilla had expected such an insult, and it was no different to what she thought of herself. She still flinched at the word, too aware of the way her leather gloves had tightened around her fists. And yet, she found herself grateful for the confirmation that this _was_ who she was, that he saw it just as plainly as she did, despite what still lingered within her. 

Those old words she resented so deeply brushed along the back of her consciousness: _This is not who you are_. She pushed them away, suffocating them with the truth of the person she was, the only version of herself that had survived through what she’d endured—murderer, monster, Inquisitor. 

“I am what Cere made me,” she replied, her voice thick with hatred. 

The Jedi was silent for a moment, and Trilla could practically feel the way he turned her words over in his mind in thought. She knew he could feel something in her, just below the surface, and it troubled him. She waited for him to say something in response, and she found herself nearly eager for his voice to grace her ears again, but it didn’t come. After an agonizing moment, she heard the sharp crackle of him cutting the comms. 

She had been so lost in her interaction with the Jedi that she hadn’t realized a stormtrooper had approached her. “Second Sister, the Jedi—,” he began, but she cut him off. 

She couldn’t be bothered.

“I’ll be returning to my ship,” she said. “Keep an eye out for the Jedi. He’s around here somewhere.” 

She turned on her heel. As she began her exit of the tomb, she could feel her connection with the Jedi flaming dangerously in her mind. She wanted to pull whatever held them together taunt, to rip it straight out of her, but all she could do was put some distance between them until the flame became nothing more than an ache. 

+

She breathed in the fresh air of the planet, her mask tucked underneath her arm. She hadn’t realized how condensed the air in the tomb had been, and she was grateful to be able to breathe so deeply again. The hilltop she stood on was strangely peaceful, silent for nothing except the subtle whistle of the wind blowing past. Her TIE awaited her, and she nearly sighed when she sat down in the familiar seat again.

The comm crackled as she opened it again. “I’ve taken the artifact back to my ship for analysis,” she said, slipping her leather gloves off. “Pity you couldn’t make it in time.”

Trilla paused for a moment, weighing her own words, as she flexed her hands free from the restrictive leather. Had she intended to say the words as she had, or had a subconscious part of her peeked through? An image flashed through her mind of the Jedi with her, in her ship, with all the softness that accompanied his features. She shook her thoughts away, pushing back against the possible double meaning in the words. If he’d noticed the shift in her thoughts, he didn’t show it. 

“Doesn’t matter what you steal,” he snapped. “You’ll never understand it.”

She smiled. “Yet you do?”

Trilla could sense his doubt at her words. It was fascinating to her—how effortlessly she was able to push him to the edge, get under his skin, make him squirm. She couldn’t help wondering what else she could do that could have such an effect. Even more intriguing, however, was the way he held her words in his mind and how it always brought forth such a truculent response. He seemed to let her in just to tempt him, to push him the farthest that he could go, only to hold firm under the pressure of it all. She’d never encountered a Jedi quite like him, and she wondered what exactly it would take to break his fervent spirit. 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he shot back, just as she expected. 

Her eyes flashed dangerously at his words. “I’ll take those odds.”

Trilla waited for reports to begin trickling through, but nothing came. She pulled desperately at the connection between her and the Jedi. She felt anger, confusion, and then, overwhelming _awe_. 

She knew what it was before having to confirm it. 

“I noticed something while examining this sarcophagus,” she said. “It’s a very convenient location to dispose of nuisances.”

“You lured me here. Was this your plan all along?”

“You truly have the wits of a scrapper,” she told him. She chewed at her lip. _Probably the lips of one, too,_ she didn’t add. 

There was an assault of reports in the moments that followed, and the panic flooding through her troops was nothing compared to the previous ones. She held her breath, only able to focus on the sharp white noise that accompanied every new report that was quickly cut short. Trilla found her heart hammering in her chest, but she waited. The reports dwindled, slowly at first as the stormtroopers held up a fight, and then all at once. The excruciating silence returned, sooner than she had anticipated. She waited for it—the crack of the comm opening, and a stormtrooper confirming the Jedi’s demise. 

Nothing. 

The Jedi was improving dramatically. 

“You survived,” she stated. 

His irritation was apparent. “Not part of your plan?”

“Luckily, I always allow for contingencies.”

Trilla cut off the communication between them, possibly for the last time. She felt a sharp sting and slickness in her palm, and when she turned her gaze to look, she noticed that blood had pooled underneath her fingertips where her nails had bitten harshly into her skin. She unclenched her hand with a shaky breath, and a terrifying realization formed in her mind.

Her troops were being sacrificed like animals, and she had been worried for the Jedi instead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for all the love and support this is getting! It really means a lot, and I’m so excited to tell the rest of this story. I’m starting my fall semester tomorrow, so I don’t know when there will be another update, but I’ll be doing my best to get one out soon. Until then, enjoy 🥺💗

**“** _The truth begins to show._ **”**

******Kashyyyk, 14 BBY**

Kashyyyk was rich with lush greenery and life. He still remembered how refreshing it had been to step out into the planet’s atmosphere for the first time. The air had been humid and heavy with the scent of earth. It was worlds beyond what life in Bracca had been like, and to be greeted with a place where life thrived so beautifully struck hope in him. 

Arriving back in Kashyyyk was not the same. 

Cal clipped his lightsaber to his side and stepped off the Mantis with barely a glance at either Cere nor Greez. He could feel their eyes on him, sympathetic or annoyed, he didn’t know; he refused to meet their gaze. He was in no mood for conversation, much less to be gawked at for his stubbornness. 

“Be careful out there!” Cere called out after him. 

He waved a hand back, but he didn’t reply. He needed to get away, to think, and desperately, to blow off some steam. He was burning with anger and frustration by how easily Cere had lied to him, by how shaken he’d been to be faced with Trilla. 

_Trilla_.

He shut his eyes tightly at the memory as he walked further and further away from the Mantis. He could feel Cere’s and Greez’s eyes burning into his back, and he wanted to turn on them and yell at them to find some other ancient creature to stare at. But he knew the desire to do so was just a byproduct of his anger, something that would simmer eventually, and it would be best for him not to let it get the best of him for now. 

He reached the elevator shaft that led to the rest of the planet, and he was grateful for the metal door sliding closed behind him. An extra weight seemed to have slipped from his chest without the reaching eyes of his companions, but it didn’t lessen the rest of the heaviness he was burdened to carry. He glanced at the ground on the other side, considering meditation, but he was far too frustrated to do so. 

He knew he wouldn’t be able to focus, not with all the raw emotion roiling through him, not with all the thoughts racing through his mind, and definitely not with Trilla’s face flashing behind his eyes.

It certainly hadn’t helped that he had dreamt of her the night before.

But the last twenty-four hours of his life weren’t exactly what he was expecting, either. 

Trilla had deceived him to raise the Jedi tomb on Zeffo. He should have seen it coming, but after everything that had happened between them, he’d been too caught up to think twice. He’d managed to get the communications back to normal after BD-1 encrypted it, but the Mantis offered him nothing but silence. He panicked. In his rush to get back to the Mantis, to make sure Cere and Greez were safe, he’d been kidnapped and thrown into a Zeffo prison.

And forced to compete in an arena for show. 

It definitely wasn’t a typical day for him. 

_Cal took a grateful moment to catch his breath. He wasn’t sure how someone could go through so much in a single day. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised since the past few days had turned his life inside out._

_A weight settled over his chest when he realized, in full, that he was back on the Mantis with Greez and_ Cere _. Trilla’s words turned over in his mind. He didn’t know how things were going to settle between him and Cere now that he knew the truth—from the last person he should have heard it from, no less—but it wasn’t going to be good._

_He approached the cockpit. He disregarded Cere in his hesitancy to face her and greeted Greez instead. He felt Cere’s eyes shift toward him, and he pushed down the anger that rose within him. Greez spoke, and Cal felt aggrieved that he was distracted instead by Cere’s gaze burning into his back._

_The only words he caught from Greez were, “At least you’re okay.”_

_Cal turned to leave. He wasn’t sure he could face Cere with Trilla’s words ringing in his ears again. With the indignation and affliction he could feel burning within her, just a breath away once more. With the betrayal of it all._

_“Yeah, a complication we could have avoided,” Cere said. “Luckily, we found you.”_

_Cal nearly laughed. “We have another complication. The Empire knows about the holocron.”_

_“That’s not good,” Cere said._

Just wait until you hear what else I have to say, _he thought with his teeth gritting._

_“The entire mission is now at risk. And I had a nice chat with the Second Sister,” Cal said, void of warmth. “_ Trilla _.”_

_Cere gaped at him. He could see the realization settling over her features, and she tore her gaze from him. “What did she tell you?”_

_“She told me—” he began, but cut short with a warning glance from Greez. He didn’t care. He turned on Cere again. “She told me you betrayed her to the Empire. Is it true?”_

_He knew it was, but he wanted to hear it from her._

_She turned to him again, eyes blazing. “She’ll say anything to jeopardize this mission—!”_

_“Is it true!?” Cal asked again, voice rising._

_Cere was silent for a moment, obviously rattled by his tone. “She was my apprentice,” she admitted. “Before the Purge.”_

_Cal’s voice came out low this time, and it was near straining to speak. “You should have told me.”_

_“We’re getting an encrypted message from Kashyyyk,” Greez interrupted._ _  
_

_Cal’s eyes were hard. He shook his head in disbelief and stormed out of the cockpit to the holotable. Mari appeared. She revealed Tartful had been found and was willing to meet with him, but the Empire overran their position at the refinery. It wasn’t good, and he would have to return both to offer the help he could and speak to Tartful._

_He cut the connection, and Cere turned to face him. “Cal,” she said._

_“I’m not doing this, Cere,” he said, his hands braced so tightly against the holotable that his fingertips were white. “We have to get to Kashyyyk.”_

_Cere opened her mouth to say something else, but Cal was already gone._

In a fit of exhaustion and annoyance, Cal had tumbled into the cot at the back of the ship. He heard Greez’s and Cere’s distinct voices speaking in hushed whispers in the cockpit, but he couldn’t be bothered to care if they were speaking about him or not after the nightmarish day he’d endured. He’d closed his eyes, and sleep embraced him almost immediately. 

_Cal was aware of nothing around him besides one thing—the curve of a shoulder, dark hair grazing skin, a hand closing around his wrist._

_“Trilla?” he asked._

_A sound sliced through the air, startling enough to send him stumbling back and falling to the ground. Trilla advanced on him, her lightsaber humming dangerously in her hand, with no remorse shining in her eyes. He breathed out a shaky breath and fumbled for his weapon, but it wasn’t at his side._

_He was helpless._

_“Trilla,” he said, nearly pleading._

_She lunged._

Cal had woken up gasping, his shirt sticking to his back, and Greez had been at his side. Cal brushed it off as a bad dream, and thankfully, Greez hadn’t questioned it. He suggested that Cal give Cere a break after everything, and while his words rang true, Cal wasn’t sure if he was quite ready for it yet. 

He pushed the memory away, not wanting any further distraction when he was walking headfirst into danger. He’d allowed himself to get lost in thoughts about Trilla’s identity and what she’d said the day before, and it had ended with him in an underground prison. He would rather not take that risk again.

Cal pressed forward, and it was only a matter of time before he caught sight of stormtroopers at the Imperial Refinery. The soldiers moved along the ground in search of something to kill—surely, him. He focused his anger in the Force with growing intensity and jumped toward them. His saber was in his hand in a mere second, ignited the next, and slicing clean through a trooper with one swing. As he landed before the sliced corpse, he realized he’d launched himself headfirst into a pack of them. They circled around him with their glowering energies, stances ready for a bloody fight. 

Cal felt his lightsaber humming in his hand, felt the rage coursing through his veins, felt the weight of all his circumstances heavy on his shoulders, and he begged for relief. He stood in anticipation, sizing up the number of his opponents, and waited. He found satisfaction in the waiting. The sheer expectancy of it all was thrilling as he waited there, facing pests that would attack him with fervor only to die at his hand. 

Maybe it was wrong of him to think of it in such a way, but it was war—it was either him or them, and he’d rather not have his blood running along the ground. 

A stormtrooper lunged, and Cal soared into the air. His saber cut through the troop before he landed on his feet. Another launched itself at him, and Cal rose his saber in defense. He relented, but the block only seemed to make him more angry. He jumped at Cal again, and it took more swings than he felt comfortable to take the soldier down. Another took a jab at him, and he cried out in pain as their weapon cut through his skin, drawing blood. Cal’s anger became a rousing fire, and he swung his saber down hard. 

Even as he pressed further into the planet, closer to Tartful, with every defeated enemy, there was another horde of stormtroopers attacking that he had to fight off. He had a fleeting moment of concern when he thought perhaps he was in over his head, but the thought slipped away from his mind as they bore down on him. With every swing and strike of his saber, he felt his anger dissolving into his saber before returning back to him, like a never-ending circle of anguish. 

When he finally slashed through the final stormtrooper, sweat had built on his brow and he fought to catch his breath. Some of his anger had been eaten away by the fighting, but something far different hung in the air. Whispers reached out to him, several at once, and Cal turned toward it. 

It went silent, but he felt the faint feeling of a string tied around his waist, tugging him forward. Cal, in any other instance, would have believed it was the Force confirming his steps toward Tartful and the rest of his mission, but he knew better. Something different hung in the air, something he couldn’t place. 

He stopped before the cave that led into the Shadowlands, the trail leading up to the entrance thick with damp moss. When he finally stepped through, he was welcomed with the beautiful colors of plants brightly lit against the darkened tavern and large, intricate, twisting branches across the cave. It was beautiful—and terrifying, he realized too soon. 

There were plants that littered the ground, open to the elements, that responded to the slightest touch with a sharp snap that could break bones. _Jaw plants,_ BD-1 confirmed. There were stunning flowers—s _aava plants_ , BD-1 wouldn’t let him forget—that stemmed away from their places to follow his track, and then sting him painfully if he wasn’t alert. And, of course, there were stormtroopers. 

He was relieved when he finally arrived at Origin Lake and there was no sign of stormtroopers, but he had something else to worry about. His body plunged into the murky water, and when he resurfaced, the whispers had returned, a thousand voices speaking in low voices he couldn’t understand, but closing in quickly. His arms and legs burned with the effort of swimming through the water after all the energy he’d exerted, and he climbed onto muddy, but firm ground. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, and although he was soaked through from his dive into the water, he was thankful for how refreshing it was compared to the humid air around him. He started to move, but stopped suddenly as the whispers from before intensified in response. 

Cal’s hand lingered over his saber in caution. His brows furrowed in confusion, feet turning to walk around in a circle in an attempt to discern where it was coming from. A tension built in the tie he felt between him and Trilla, and he braced a hand on the moss growing on the wall.

A still silence filled the air like a crack. 

“How interesting to see you here,” a voice called. 

The familiarity of the voice was like the shocking wave of a current rippling through his body. At first, he thought he had imagined it, but when his eyes laid over hers, he knew he hadn’t. Trilla stood before him, mask-less and wearing her usual Inquisitor uniform. 

Cal was struck to see her again for all the wrong reasons, and he didn’t allow himself to give it a second thought.

His hand immediately closed around his saber, igniting it, and lunging. Trilla’s face contorted into a terrifying concentration as she dodged the swing of his lightsaber. Her hand reached out into the air, and her saber was ignited in her hand in mere seconds. She attempted to meet his next attack, but their sabers didn’t clash. They soared past each other, as if they weren’t there at all. 

There was a moment of hesitation between them, dumbfounded by what had occurred, but Trilla moved quickly. Cal dodged her attack and she spun around him, swinging her saber yet again. The saber cut a line across his chest, and he hissed in pain that never came. Stunned, he stopped and realized that there was no evidence of her lightsaber getting anywhere near him. He glanced up at her.

Trilla stood with her lightsaber buzzing behind her and her hand outstretched towards him in an obvious attempt to use the Force, but there was nothing. She retracted her hand and saber, and she stared down at them both in confusion. “This is… impossible,” she whispered. 

“What is this?” he asked coldly. 

His eyes followed her figure in question, but it was no hologram. She was there, with him in Kashyyyk, and also _not_. How could that be?

“I could ask the same thing,” she responded, and the perplexed expression on her face told him that she was just as unaware of what was happening as he was. “I can’t do this, even with my training, so I know you can’t be doing it either.”

Cal raised his brows. “Wow, okay.”

She ignored his words. She glanced behind her in question and turned back to him with a baffled expression. “Can you see where I am?” she asked. “I can’t see anything around you… Just you.”

_Just you_. The words were full of curiosity, and the tone in her voice made his heart race. Her face was etched with puzzlement and a distant softness that left warmth unraveling in his chest. In his desperation to push the thought away, he snapped, “Is this a game to you?”

“Not a game,” she disagreed. “Just something I’ve never seen before. This is… something else. Interesting.” He didn’t say anything, and her eyes fell over him again. She seemed to retreat back to herself. “How’s your traitorous Master?”

He clenched his fists. “How’s your ego after I wounded you in that fight?”

She let out a stark laugh. “Impressive, Kestis.”

Trilla took a step toward him, and Cal fought the desire to step back. 

“You ought to remark on how it’s not as impressive as you, no?” he shot.

She looked at him with eyes of interest. “Not quite,” she answered. “Where’s the holocron?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“But it is, isn’t it?” she asked. “I want it just as much as you do.”

“For all the wrong reasons.”

Her lips quirked up. “To you,” she said, almost a whisper, but threatening all the same. 

Trilla stepped even closer to him, and the look in her eyes wasn’t one he’d ever seen. He could feel the heat from her body pressing into his own, and he somehow had to fight the itching urge to close his eyes against it. “You’re not going to win,” he said. 

Her eyes were menacing. “We’ll see.”

He blinked, and Trilla was gone. The pressure of whatever lay between them subsided, like a tide returning to an ocean, but ever-present. It would return eventually, he knew, and he would have to prepare himself for it when it did. He breathed in deeply, allowing his heart to slow from its rapid beats, and looked down at the ground. The damp mud beneath his feet had sunken underneath his weight, and with a start, he saw that it had done the same where Trilla had been standing just moments before. 

_Trust only in the Force,_ Cal remembered Master Tapal saying with a twinge of guilt. 

But if he should trust in the Force alone, why had it just connected him to the person that wanted him dead?

+

Cal wound his way up to the Origin Tree. Tartful had advised him to follow in the footsteps of Eno Cordova at the top of the sacred tree, and with a breather Mari provided, the journey had been easier. The conversation between them had been short, easily something they would mistake as his eagerness to fulfill his mission as fast as he could, but he knew the truth.

He was completely shaken by what had happened between him and Trilla. 

He had felt something between them, surely, but it manifested in a way he hadn’t thought possible. Was there secrets of the Force that he hadn’t known, that even Master Topal hadn’t known? The thought alone sent shivers up his spine.

They were able to find a hologram of Eno Cordova in the Origin Tree. He spoke of an Astrium, created by the Zeffo mages, and Kujet’s tomb. The tomb was on Dathomir, and it was the next step to getting the holocron, hopefully before the Empire.

But the Empire had a habit of getting in his way. 

Cal faced the Ninth Sister.

“Found you again,” she said.

“You’re done hurting this world.”

“I don’t know what’s got the Second Sister thinking you’re so important,” the Ninth Sister said. “She likes her souvenirs but… I’m not in it for the memories and honestly… you’re not worth my time, so let’s make this quick.”

The Ninth Sister lunged, and Cal was surprised by the force in her attack. He dodged away from her strike. He felt the heat of her lightsaber grazing past him, too close for comfort, and it set his teeth on edge. Where Trilla had been quick and agile, the Ninth Sister was a beast of brawn and brutality. The only similarity he could draw between the two was their uniform and the aggressiveness in which they confronted their opponents. 

He opened himself to the Force, and he was struck by what he felt. There was no shred of empathy spared inside of her, only power and violence. And she basked in it. 

How were she and Trilla so similar, yet so distinctly different? 

Cal found himself diving back from her strikes, too taken aback to adjust quite yet. He sprinted toward her and managed a jab at her shoulder. She jabbed him twice as hard, and he cried out painfully. It went like that for what felt like hours, his only relief in the fight the healing stims BD-1 provided to give him some semblance of life running through his veins again. He observed her—how she lunged, how she swung and attacked with her saber, how she dodged his own attacks—and he learned. 

Cal cracked through her visor. He swung again, but the Ninth Sister launched him into the air with the Force. He sucked in a breath of surprise that was knocked out of him as he hit the ground hard. The Ninth Sister cradled her visor with a menacing smile and watched as Cal rose to his feet. 

“Not bad for trash,” she commented.

“What about for a Jedi?”

“Is there a difference?”

She lunged again, and Cal had been expecting it. He dived away from the strike and turned on her. 

He attacked at her weak points, his lightsaber burning against leather and flesh, and found himself more alert than he’d ever been before. He was finally grasping at the straws of his former training, remembering it and applying it. It felt freeing to somewhat step back into the shoes of who he’d been, _who he was_ , and feel the all-encompassing unity of it flowing through him again.

He felt the swift change of her thoughts toward him as he gained the upper hand, from a weak pest to a threat. _Good_ , he thought. He parried an attack and, before he knew exactly what he was doing, he soared through the air and sliced her hand clean off. Her saber slipped from her grasp, deactivating, and clattered across the ruined canopy. She fell to her knee, but she still had that sickening smile that left his skin crawling. 

“It’s over,” he said. 

“Being an Inquisitor taught me no set-back is too great,” she said, grasping her wrist. She stood back up. “When you’ve already lost yourself… a limb’s easy. You know, I was a Jedi. It’d be fun to bring you in.”

Her saber ignited behind him, and Cal ducked in surprise. It soared into her other hand. “Watch you crack like the rest of us… Angers you!” she yelled, and their sabers clashed as she attacked. “Just wait ‘til the isolation!” _Strike._ “Torture!” _Strike._ “Mutilation!”

Cal thought of Trilla then—isolated, tortured, mutilated. He knew Inquisitors were birthed from such atrocities, but he hadn’t thought of Trilla in that position. Compared to who she had become, it would be hard for anyone to imagine her helpless and defeated, but the image came to him clearly. Perhaps it was the turmoil he felt lining her soul, or maybe it was whatever connected them, but it didn’t matter. He could see Trilla in his mind, surrounded by nothing by darkness; getting blasted through with agonizing pain; getting cut open like an animal. Time and time again, until she broke. 

All because she had been a Jedi, like he was.

His heart ached at the thought. 

Maybe they weren’t so different after all. 

She peered into him above their clashing weapons, and Cal recoiled at the violent brush of her consciousness against his. He registered the surprise on her face. “So that’s why Second Sister’s so enamored with a Bracca scrap rat,” she observed, gruntled at the discovery. “ _Compassion._ ” 

Cal’s eyes widened in response. He clawed at words that wouldn’t come. His mind reeled. 

“Can’t wait to see the look on her face when I tell her I’ve disposed of her precious _Jedi_ ,” she spat. “And your friends…” 

Cal finally found words. His grip on the hilt of his weapon tightened. “I won’t let you touch them,” he snarled. 

“You can’t stop the Empire!”

“I can stop you.”

Cal knew exactly what he was doing this time. He pushed back against her strike, throwing her off balance, and he tugged on the Force around him to guide his flight into the air. He landed behind her and slashed through her back in one painful, upward arc of motion. He pulled on the Force again as he extended his hand, and it responded. The Ninth Sister flew back, crashing past the wall of the ruined canopy, and out of sight entirely. 

Cal stood there in amazement of what he’d done. The force in the attack, the overwhelming assuredness in it, left him nearly dazed. He wasn’t sure where it had come from or how he had known what to do in the matter of milliseconds. Had it been his protectiveness of his friends that had shown him? Or had it been the mention of Trilla?

The Inquisitor’s words whirled in his mind. _Her precious_ Jedi _._ Cal took an unsteady breath, blinked, pushed the thought away.

The Shyyyo bird had returned, peeking back up onto the destroyed canopy. He had healed it with BD-1’s help earlier, after it had saved them, and he had found the bird to be a charming creature. Cal couldn't help his ease at the sight of it, not exactly unscathed, but alive. 

A laugh of relief bubbled out of him. “Hey!” he called to it as he approached. “We thought you were dead. Glad you’re okay.”

Cal let his hand run over the bird’s coat. He paused as he felt a shudder in the Force and the lingering feeling of eyes on him. His brows furrowed, and he peered into the ruined canopy before him. Flames shifted noisily as they burned at the decomposing canopy, and the leaves twining above and around him fluttered in the wind, but there was no evidence of anyone being there. He fought the desire to step forward and demand whoever it was to step out, but oddly enough, he was sure he knew who it was. He stood there for a moment, weighing his options, and staring out into the wrecked space.

Cal thought about his dream—the savage buzz of a lightsaber igniting, the flash of pain as it tore through him—and knew he should be afraid.

He found he wasn’t. 

BD-1 beeped in question.

Cal was pulled away from his thoughts, and he realized he had been holding his breath. “Nothing, buddy,” he responded. “Just thought I heard something.” 

He turned to the Shyyyo bird, still tense under the familiarity he felt, and decided not to bid his time. “We should get back,” he said cautiously. “Cere and Greez are expecting us.”

Cal took one final glance at the canopy behind him as the Shyyyo bird rose into the air.

After a moment, he turned his gaze forward, aware of how the inferno in his mind dwindled into a ghosting sting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dear friend and fellow Caltrilla made a beautiful manip of Trilla and Cal's first force bond in this chapter that you can find [here.](https://twitter.com/acosmiclove/status/1314614169413455872?s=20) Go support her on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/acosmiclove) and [ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acosmiclove) for more Caltrilla goodness!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Another update! I don’t know when another update will be out because of my studies right now, but I’ll be aiming for at least one update a month until December. I’ll be hoping for more, and depending on how everything goes, there might be, but I can’t promise anything. Nevertheless, thank you all for the incredible support with this story. It means the world, and I hope you enjoy 💗

  
**”** _Lover_ , hunter _, friend and enemy,_

_You will always be every one of these._ **”**

**Kashyyyk, 14 BBY**

Trilla watched as the Wookiees and rebels fled into the forest. Stormtroopers advanced on their tail, weapons drawn and firing. “Leave them,” she ordered. “We’ve overrun their position—”

She cut herself short as she felt a clear image rushing toward her—orange-colored hair, pale skin, striking green eyes. She turned toward it, gripping her deactivated weapon, and realized that one of the presumably fallen rebels was not so fallen after all. The rebel lay splayed on the platform, legs badly wounded and a fatal wound in his midsection. He was still reaching for his weapon. _These bog rats never stop fighting, do they?_ Trilla asked herself.

She wasn’t sure how she had been able to see such a clear image of the Jedi in the rebel’s mind, but it was strikingly clear. She approached him and shoved his shoulder with an effortless kick. He grunted as he landed on his back, clutching the wound at his midsection. She kicked his weapon away and knelt beside him. “The Jedi,” she said. “Where is he?”

He spat in her face. “You’re never going to win.”

Trilla wiped off the saliva from her face with disgust. “Maybe,” she said. “You’ll still be dead.”

She could feel her troops eyes on her and, most of all, the penetrating gaze of the Ninth Sister. This was the part she dreaded the most. She had killed many people throughout her years as an Inquisitor. She had found it thrilling to chase them, to see them helpless, to hold such power, but it always blurred away with every kill. Her dream of the Jedi the night before only seemed to make it more grim.

“I’m not telling you anything.” 

“Then you will die as nothing more than a pitiful _martyr_.”

“It’s far better than what you will die for,” he said. 

Trilla let out an amused sound and pressed the hilt of her lightsaber against his chest. She watched as the hope and courage that gleamed in his eyes dwindled into terror, a response she had been on the other side of once. She leaned closer to him. “I already died a long time ago,” she whispered and, with one swift turn of her thumb, she ignited her weapon. 

Trilla stood to her feet and clipped her saber to her side, pushing down against the wave of revulsion that washed over her. She stared at the lifeless body before her, the light in his eyes gone as swift as the turn of a tide. Was there someone expecting his return? A friend, a lover, a family, perhaps? Memories flashed across her vision: a slack jaw, a sliced body, orange hair gleaming against the harsh glint of her lightsaber. Trilla gulped and tore her eyes away. 

“The rebels will contact the Jedi,” she said. “Better to give them some semblance of hope for now. It’ll make it easier to wipe them out when we return.” 

The Ninth Sister didn’t seem happy when Trilla brushed past her, but she couldn’t care less. She knew the Inquisitor would object to the decision to leave the planet so soon, but that was exactly Ninth Sister’s problem. She was too willing to jump into a fight and destroy everything in her path, even if waiting would prove to have more beneficial results. She was impulsive and thirsty for blood, which was her greatest strength—and her greatest weakness. Her lack of reasoning in action set Trilla’s teeth on edge, and it was felt most of all whenever she was sent with the Inquisitor anywhere in the galaxy. 

If she could slice the Ninth Sister through and not face consequences, Trilla was sure she would’ve done it a long time ago. 

Trilla gave the order for the troops to retreat and sent an update to the Grand Inquisitor. He would be expecting their presence when they returned to the fortress. As if facing him wouldn’t be infuriating enough, Ninth Sister caught up to walk in pace beside her on her way to her TIE.

“That Jedi seems far smarter than you give him credit for, Second Sister,” Ninth Sister said, “considering he escaped your grasp. He wouldn’t be such a fool.”

“He was here. He freed the Wookies. He fought by their side and by the side of the rebels,” she defended. “Do you not think that those rebel scum will catch the attention of their savior once again?”

The Ninth Sister stopped short and turned on her. “What is this?”

“A calculated guess, Ninth Sister,” Trilla said, “and perhaps if you made more of them, the Grand Inquisitor would be far prouder of your achievements—”

“Careful, Second Sister,” she warned. “I was only speaking about your pointless fixation on the Jedi.”

“He is dangerous to the Empire—!”

“As you keep saying,” the Ninth Sister said calmly. “I wonder... if this is just a means of throwing the entire Inquisitorius off the trail of this Jedi.”

Trilla faltered in surprise for a moment, but regained her composure just as quickly. _Did she think that I’d do such a thing?_ Even worse was the thought that came afterward: _Would I?_ Her lip curled up dangerously. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Don’t give me a reason to be…” Ninth Sister said. “Do you truly think I didn’t feel the rage you returned with from Bracca? Or how unstable you were after Zeffo? It was _unbearable_ , and you, Second Sister… you simply aren’t so easy to shake. But something managed to.”

Trilla didn’t reply. Her eyes were wild with fury, buried in a warning that Ninth Sister didn’t seem eager to take. 

“Let’s not forget your unsanctioned visit to this planet when you acted on your own volition and destroyed the first rebel position,” Ninth Sister continued, “and alerted the rest of the Rebel Alliance that the Empire had arrived. It nearly cost us.”

It was true, of course. Mere days after her first encounter with the Jedi, she’d run off to Kashyyyk without consulting with any of her superiors. It was against protocol, but if she were being honest with herself, she had barely thought twice about her position. All there had been was the Jedi’s face flashing behind her eyes and the promise of his life running dry in her grasp. It was where she’d killed the partisan that revealed the Jedi was no longer there, conveniently enough, after she slaughtered the rest of their first position. It was why they were here now--an attempt to take back everything she’d nearly cost the Empire. 

She would have never made such a rash decision before, but the Jedi seemed to have a way to get her to abandon logic. 

“But it didn’t, did it?” Trilla questioned. “The Grand Inquisitor trusts me. You should, too.”

“I’m not so easily fooled, Second Sister, especially when I work in such close quarters to you.”

Trilla’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t have you question my allegiances.”

“Then prove me wrong,” the Ninth Sister replied, “or the Grand Inquisitor will be informed of my suspicions.”

Trilla’s eyes flashed. “You would dare to threaten me?”

The Ninth Sister smiled darkly. “You are being _reckless_ over some good for nothing Jedi,” she said. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She regarded her for a moment. “Do I?” 

It was more of a threat than a question, Trilla knew. 

The Ninth Sister turned and walked towards her own ship. “Come on, now,” she called out. “The Grand Inquisitor requests our presence.”

+

Trilla entered the large expanse of the Grand Inquisitor's throne room. It was dark, much like the rest of the Fortress Inquisitorius, with harsh red accents lined across the space. Even the towering glass that covered the far wall seemed dark, despite the fact that it showed the seemingly infinite stretch of the ocean they were submerged in. 

The Ninth Sister walked in tandem beside her toward the figure at the end of the room. The figure had turned partly at their entrance, hands clasped behind him, and his head was angled in their direction. Trilla could make out the face of the Pau’an male in the reflecting light of the water, revealing vicious red marks against pale skin and the glow of orange eyes. Even after serving underneath the Grand Inquisitor for so many years, he still had a way of leaving Trilla uneasy. She supposed that she was lucky to have won over his favor time and time again.

“Second Sister,” he greeted. “Ninth Sister.”

“Grand Inquisitor,” they both greeted.

“This visit to Kashyyyk proved successful,” he said, “but I am inclined to ask why you retreated.”

“It was Second Sister’s foolish decision to retreat, Grand Inquisitor,” Ninth Sister said quickly.

Trilla was grateful that her mask obscured her disapproving scowl. Inquisitors were competitive, which was proved in the first few weeks at the Inquisitorius, but their ruthlessness far outweighed any competition. Ninth Sister continued to prove it with her threats and useless opinions. 

“And despite your obvious disagreement, Ninth Sister, you failed to provide leadership of your own and followed Second Sister’s orders instead,” he snapped. “I’d advise you not to point blame when you have done nothing against the decision.”

Trilla could see Ninth Sister pale, even underneath the Inquisitor’s visors, and she smiled. 

“Grand Inquisitor, the decision I made was done with the supposed knowledge that the Jedi will return to Kashyyyk to avenge our attack on the refinery against the Rebels,” Trilla said. 

“I must say,” Ninth Sister interrupted, “that I don’t believe the Jedi would be foolish enough to return so shortly after an attack.”

Trilla angled her head toward hers, and her eyes met Ninth Sister’s annoyed glance. Trilla ignored it. The Grand Inquisitor looked at them both, noting the tension between them, but he didn’t comment on it. 

“We don’t have reports of the Jedi’s return,” he stated.

“Not yet,” Trilla said.

“And there won’t be,” the Ninth Sister interjected.

“Ninth Sister,” the Grand Inquisitor said, obviously irritated, “thank you for your… _comments_ , but I will trust Second Sister with this. She has a track record for these things. Be prepared, but do not engage until a report is confirmed.”

The Ninth Sister glowered. 

Trilla felt the shift in the air then, the tug of the bond she and the Jedi shared, and the press of low voices closing in. She turned toward it, but it silenced as she did. She stared out into the room in thought. She felt the brush of a mind peering into hers. Trilla shielded her thoughts, but not before—

“I sense unease in you, Second Sister,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing, Grand Inquisitor.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t press further. His gaze lingered over her in question for a moment too long. He turned to the Ninth Sister beside her. “Find the Jedi,” he commanded, eyes sliding over to Trilla. “Get the holocron, and end his miserable life.”

Trilla was grateful when the Grand Inquisitor finally dismissed them. Something she’d never felt before tugged at her very soul, and it was near straining. Her heart raced underneath the uncertainty of it—and the certainty that it had something to do with the Jedi. 

She stepped into her quarters. She slipped her mask off and dropped it on the obsidian desk at the end of her room. She placed her lightsaber beside it. She stared down at the two objects and took a deep breath, gripping the edge of the desk before her. She tipped her head down before her, trying to decipher what was happening, but she couldn’t place a single inkling of an explanation. 

Trilla straightened in alarm when she heard the distinct voices return. She turned toward it, and this time, they only seemed to grow louder. A pressure built in the connection she shared with the Jedi, building, building, until—

She blinked, and the Jedi stood before her. 

_Just_ the Jedi… as if he’d somehow materialized his way into the Inquisitorius. She knew that couldn’t be the case—if she couldn’t manage such a feat, he surely couldn’t, either. He was somewhere else then, on some other planet, but there was no indication of his location around him. 

All there was was him. 

His back was to her, and he was drenched from head to toe. His clothes stuck to his skin, defining the muscle and form underneath, and Trilla had to tear her eyes away to focus on the back of his head. Oddly enough, he somehow still looked as beautiful from behind. 

It truly would be a shame to kill him. 

She could see the rise and fall of his torso from his breath, and she thought about how easy it would be to slice through him like this. It would be over before he even realized what had happened, and she’d done far worse to other Jedi in the past, but she wouldn’t kill him. Not like this. 

She spoke into the silence and watched as his demeanor shifted entirely underneath her words, and he was moving just as quickly. The Jedi moved as if he were in the Inquisitorius _with_ her, his feet firm against the ground of her quarters as he lunged. She felt the faint touch of water against her skin as he moved around her attack, and she forced back the wave of heat that threatened to flood her when she realized it had leapt off his body. And when their weapons failed to clash against each other, the confusion that she had felt form inside her rippled across her entirely. Why was this happening? 

Her puzzlement didn’t last long and, instead, was replaced with her curiosity of the Jedi before her. His eyes were dark with accusation, but she could still sense the sympathy that lingered. Even with admonitory words slipping past her lips, she was more aware of the way he responded than the words themselves.

She watched him carefully. He had parted his lips again, and she studied the honest reaction a moment too long. There was the split second of hesitation after she spoke as he scrambled for a retort back. When she took a step forward, she noticed the faintest shift in his leg, as if he wanted to step back. She took another step forward, more to toy with him than anything else, but his gaze held firm in her approach.

_Impressive._

Trilla stood so close to him that she could feel the heat of his body. She hadn’t felt the warm press of another person in years, and she had to fight the urge to test the physical limits of whatever connected them. She stood there, all too aware of the defiance in his eyes, the slight shift in his breath, the curve of his lips. 

“You’re not going to win,” he said.

Something shifted in their connection, and Trilla took a final moment to memorize his features before saying, “We’ll see.”

She blinked, and he was gone.

She wiped at her face and turned her attention to her leather glove where water droplets lingered across the material. Her brows furrowed. The clash of their weapons had been prevented, but the exchange of something more had not. 

There was a knock on her quarters, and Trilla had barely given a welcome when it opened. “Second Sister,” the Ninth Sister said from behind her. 

“Yes, Ninth Sister?” she asked in annoyance.

“Get ready,” she said. “We’re headed to Kashyyyk.”

Trilla gazed down at her open palm where the water droplets remained like a taunt. “Of course we are,” she said. She closed her hand into a fist to shield the element from her sight. 

“Go,” she called out behind her. “I’m right behind you.”

She waited for the sound of the door of her quarters closing. She held her grip firm where water from a backwater planet lingered, from the place she’d get her answers. And hopefully, her freedom. She took hold of her lightsaber and clipped it to her side. She glanced at her mask for a brief moment, in consideration. She paused, but turned to leave and left the mask behind instead. 

Perhaps the godforsaken thing would collect dust on that desk, like it should.

Until then, she had something else to take care of.

+

Trilla was surprised by how vibrant colors were. She had seen the world in glimpses over the years, isolated only to fractions of light and shades that she saw in mere moments when she took off her mask. The jarring pigments always burned at her vision. Without her mask now, however, she felt she could finally see the word in it’s full technicolor. She’d grown so accustomed to the red hue of her mask and the dull colors of the Fortress Inquisitorius that she’d nearly forgotten what other tones looked like. 

Besides the fiery shade of that familiar head of hair and emerald eyes that haunted her, anyway. No… she’d never quite forget _that_. 

Trilla could feel the Jedi once again on the green planet, his figure as clear as the brightest of days. She knew she had been right about the calculation, of course—it only made sense. All Jedi acted the same, and she’d know: she had been one herself.

She didn’t hide the smugness in her smile with the Ninth Sister. Her fellow Inquisitor beside her was seething at the reveal that she’d been wrong. _Serves you right_ , Trilla thought glumly. 

They were nearing the Origin Tree, still awaiting a second slew of reports to confirm the Jedi’s location.

Her and the Ninth Sister had agreed to cover opposite sides of the planet if a report didn’t trickle through soon. Trilla couldn’t say she was ecstatic about it. There was too much space for something to go wrong, but she supposed she was at an advantage of knowing the Jedi’s location. 

It had only taken a moment to figure out what the Jedi was up to. One small scan of a water droplet had told her everything. He was on Kashyyyk, and by the algae in the water, it was near the root system of the Origin Tree. She trusted herself enough to know the rest of his intentions. She had the information she needed to be rid of him once and for all, and she wasn’t even keen on using it. Had a handful of encounters and one nightmare truly done this to her? 

She could tell the Ninth Sister, _He’s going up the Origin Tree._

Trilla could almost anticipate the words she’d hear back: _Are you sure?_

And the words that would seal his fate: _I’m certain of it._

It would be easier for her. She wouldn’t have to deal with the internal conflict of facing him again, or feel the connection they shared so intensely. But she knew whether she completed the kill or not herself, it would still haunt her.

It already did. 

And even if it would’ve been easy for her, Trilla wasn’t going to hand her prize over to Ninth Sister if she could take it for herself. She only hoped the Jedi would lay low enough for Ninth Sister to get impatient and leave her at the advantage of finding him first. She’d worry about specifics later. 

Trilla paused as she realized Ninth Sister hadn’t spoken a word since their departure. It wasn’t odd, considering she’d bested the Inquisitor in a way, but Ninth Sister wasn’t one to be silent after defeat. If anything, she wouldn’t stop talking. 

“The Jedi is here!” a stormtrooper called from their communications, breaking through Trilla’s thoughts. “He’s nearing the top of the Origin Tree.”

_Damn you, Kestis_ , she thought in annoyance. 

Trilla turned toward the pilot in alarm, and Ninth Sister moved quickly. She glimpsed her smile, a flash of recognition shooting through her, and all at once, Ninth Sister’s silence slid into focus. Time seemed to stop entirely, milliseconds stretched into an agonizing infinity, as she took in the sight before her. Ninth Sister had that chilling smile on her face, one hand at the ship’s controls and another braced for sudden movement. Trilla didn’t think twice before she reacted. She took hold of her saber and lunged, but it was too late. 

The ship jolted dangerously toward the ground as the Inquisitor shoved at the controls. Trilla’s back hit the gurney hard, knocking the breath out of her, but her determination far outweighed any limitation in her body. “What are you doing!?” she snapped. 

“This one’s mine,” Ninth Sister said. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Don’t!” she yelled in a rouse of anger. “ _He’s mine!_ ”

The Ninth Sister only laughed. “He’s a Jedi,” she said. “He’s up for grabs from all of us. Enjoy your detour. I’ll be finished with him by the time you arrive.”

Trilla recognized the hiss of the gurney opening beneath her, and she pushed off it to lunge at Ninth Sister in the nick of time. Sultry air filled her nostrils as the gurney opened behind her, and wind whipped violently at their clothing. She soared toward the Inquisitor, teeth bared, and the hilt of her saber already positioned for a fatal blow. She was beyond the point of caring about consequences, her thoughts drowned out by wisps of ginger hair and viridescent eyes. The Inquisitor extended her hand toward her and the final thing Trilla saw was Ninth Sister’s satisfied grin as she toppled through nothing but air. In a panic, she tugged at the Force to soften her fall and she was relieved at the split-second reaction as her body tumbled over the ground. 

Mud slid between her leather-clad fingers and caked along her uniform and hair, splattering along her face, as she rolled to a stop. She gasped for breath and choked on mud. She coughed and gagged at the taste of it on her tongue. She patted down her body in disbelief. _You’re okay,_ she thought. _You’re alive._

She glanced up toward the sky to see Ninth Sister’s ship circling around the Origin Tree. Her colleague had risked her life and nearly killed her. If she was unsure about killing the Inquisitor before, she surely wasn’t now. However, for once, she wasn’t so much preoccupied with her own safety than she was for the Jedi. She knew how ruthless Ninth Sister could be, and she found herself hoping the Jedi could hold his own before she arrived. 

_And then what?_ she asked herself.

What was she thinking?

She’d have to kill him. 

Trilla didn’t give herself time to shift through her thoughts or to question why she was thinking the way she was. It didn’t matter—not when she was submerged in a heap of mud and especially not when Ninth Sister was going after _her_ Jedi. She forced herself to her feet and charged forward toward the Origin Tree, grateful that the idiotic Inquisitor had tossed her fairly close to it. It still would be a long shot to guarantee she’d get there first, but Trilla always loved a challenge. 

She looked up at the Origin Tree looming over her and clawed at the closest ledge. Her glove, slick with mud and soil, slipped easily against her grip. Trilla bit back a swear and yanked her gloves off impatiently with her teeth. She spit at the ground to get the hint of mire out of her mouth and pocketed her gloves into the back of her trousers.

Her bare hand gripped at the ledge, her nail beds pushing painfully against bark, and held firm.

Trilla began her ascent.

+

It didn’t matter that her hands were scraped rough, drawing blood, from her steep climb. It didn’t matter that her thighs burned with every step, that her arms ached with every reach, that she could slip and fall to her death any second. All that mattered was that she could feel the Jedi like a fiery spark in her mind, and he was at the top.

When Trilla finally arrived, the canopy was in flames and Ninth Sister was nowhere to be seen. There was only the Jedi, _alive_ and standing alone. She couldn’t help the relief she felt to see him unharmed. 

He’d killed Ninth Sister, and she was grateful, for both of their sakes. 

Trilla watched him from the shadows.

She watched as he extended a hand toward the large bird peeking through at the end of the canopy, running his hand along it. There was a bright smile across his face that left warmth unraveling in her chest. The bird somehow seemed relieved to see him, and Trilla wondered why that must be. Her mind whirled at the sight. When was the last time that she’d been able to extend such awe for an animal or for anyone, for that matter? When was the last time that she’d been able to feel comfortable—safe, even? When was the last time that she’d smiled without delighting in something violent?

She’d been aware of his character from the beginning, but his kindness still struck her. 

He turned toward her, eyes scanning over the canopy curiously, and she knew that he could feel her presence. She waited for his face to harden and the ignition of his weapon to challenge her, but no such thing came. Instead, he waited in silence, unafraid. 

Trilla’s hand closed around her lightsaber, finger splayed across the activation, and she abhorred the conflict that broke out within her. She could step out of the shadows and ignite her weapon. She could advance on him, fight him, as she knew she should, but she hesitated. _What is with you?_ she scolded. _You can finish this right here, right now. You can finish this before it goes on any longer than it needs to._

She was being foolish, she knew that. He was a Jedi and she was an Inquisitor. There was no space for anything that could have been before, no matter what simmered between them.

But still, she couldn’t do it.

And she didn’t want to.

_Go, Cal Kestis,_ she urged in her mind. 

As if on cue, the Jedi’s droid initiated a sound and snapped him back to reality. He hesitated, eyes and stance wary of the scene before him, but he turned to leave. She watched as he climbed onto the bird and disappeared into a dark blur as he rose into the sky. She stepped out from the shadows, and she watched him go. The awareness of him pressing into her faded with every second of distance put between them, but the touch of him was always present, like the steady beat of a heart. 

Trilla peered down as her communications went off. Seventh Sister was sending a message, and she was sure it was the Grand Inquisitor requesting an update after the reports that had poured through. She opened the comm. 

“Alert the Grand Inquisitor,” Trilla said. “Ninth Sister is dead. The Jedi killed her. He escaped.”

“That’s not why I contacted you,” Seventh Sister said, “but the Grand Inquisitor will appreciate the information nonetheless.”

Trilla’s brows furrowed. “What is it?”

“We found another Jedi,” the Seventh Sister said. “She’s on Ontotho.”

Trilla was surprised by the planet’s mention. She had led a mission on the forest planet years prior, chasing the rumor of a Jedi’s presence. The presumed Jedi wasn’t a Jedi after all, but a rebel, nonetheless. 

Her gaze followed the Jedi’s figure in the distance. “What’s that have to do with me?” she asked. 

“That's just it,” Seventh Sister said. “The Grand Inquisitor wants you on the mission with me.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! Thank you for all the love and support this continues to get, it means so so so much!! I decided to include an additional update with this one since this chapter focuses a lot on events we’re already aware of in canon, so there’s a Trilla chapter after this! 
> 
> To Linds, who gave me the smallest detail of an idea that made all the difference.

**“** _Lover, hunter, friend and_ enemy _,  
__You will always be every one of these._ **”**

**Dathomir, 14 BBY**

The atmosphere on Dathomir was heavy with darkness, and it was near suffocating. He could almost feel the weight of all the horrors it had seen crawling up from the depths of it, grazing over his skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. He shivered. 

Cere was waiting for him beside the gurney. “Cal, do you have a moment?”

A very harsh _no_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it down. He was being stubborn, he knew, but he couldn’t help it after he’d seen what her choice had done to Trilla. It was selfish of him to pin the blame on her, especially with a situation that wasn’t so clear-cut, but who else was there to blame? Maybe that was his problem—he just wanted someone to direct his frustrations to. 

“You’ve come a long way since Bracca,” Cere said sympathetically, “but the path is far from over. I want you to know the difficult challenges ahead.”

“I can handle it,” he insisted.

“I know what you can do,” she said. “I’m not denying that.”

“And I know what has to be done. I’ve done it before.”

“Cal, even the strongest of Jedi…”

“I’m not Trilla,” he snapped. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know you’re not. I didn’t say that.”

Cal could see how much she was trying to salvage what was left of their relationship. He thought about their conversation the day before, after he’d arrived back to the Mantis on Kashyyyk. _I still fought. But in the end, I came apart, and I gave them Trilla,_ she’d said. _And I know there’s nothing I can do to make that right, but, Cal, there’s still a chance we can save the others on the holocron._

He’d understood her intent well enough, but there was still that defiant response that rose within him that he had to fight back: _And we can’t save Trilla?_ He’d pushed the words away and glumly left the conversation with flat words and no meaning. He hadn’t even touched the food that Greez had prepared after hours of traveling on Kashyyyk. The conversation had cost him his appetite. 

He’d retreated back into his makeshift room on the Mantis. After much needed time in the refresher to get every trace of Kashyyyk off him, he tried to get some sleep, but he couldn’t manage to silence his thoughts. He had tossed and turned, seeing the same dark hair and bright eyes beneath his closed eyelids, and eventually, he submitted. He’d propped his arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling, and he thought about her.

 _Really_ thought about her. 

Cal had wondered what she was doing, what she was thinking about. If she’d been thinking about him, too… That’s how sleep had claimed him, a small twining across his consciousness that sunk him into the depths, with Trilla Suduri on his mind. 

Now, looking at Cere, Cal wasn’t sure how things would go back to normal between them. Things were too complicated, too painful. “I’m not asking you to say anything,” he said. “It’s okay, Cere. Really.”

Her eyes hung in defeat. “Just be safe, Cal,” she said. “That’s all.”

He nodded. He wondered about his connection with Trilla and if he should share it with her, but the idea was shot down as quickly as it formed. Something about his bond with Trilla felt intimate in a strange way, and he wasn’t ready to share that information with someone else just yet. Maybe ever… 

Cal turned toward the rest of the planet and began his journey. 

+

Cal was getting closer to the temple after his forced detour by the hands of the Nightbrothers. And the Nightsister that had set them on him in the first place. No journey ever came easy to him, it seemed. 

He thought about the wanderer’s words about the ruins. _Ancient beyond belief,_ he’d said. _The Nightsister and her warrior kin were seduced by the power that lurks within. Avoid the ruin, or suffer the same fate._ Cal knew his mission, but he still wondered what he would be faced with inside. Would he be tempted by darkness, pushed to a limit, tested? 

Whatever awaited him, he was sure he was ready for it. 

The Nightsister appeared above him, a flash of green overcome with the scarlet of her clothes. “You will go no further,” she said. 

_She was only a child when the war came to this world,_ he remembered the wanderer saying. _She had to watch her whole family perish._ She and Cal weren’t so different, and he wished she would see it for herself. They could be allies, if she only allowed it… maybe even friends. 

Cal ignited his saber. “Stand aside.”

“No,” she said. “He was right about you.”

“Who… what?”

“Jedi are thieves and selfish liars who bring nothing but death.”

“Back off,” he snapped. “If you attack me again, I’ll strike you down.”

“Oh, I won’t do a thing. But my murdered sisters… they will have their revenge.”

The Nightsisters appeared, grotesque beings of darkness hungry for a fight. 

Cal sighed.

He was getting tired of this.

He lunged, anyway. 

Silence echoed on the planet after he sliced through the final Nightsister. Cal felt a shudder in the Force, and a slice of pain shot through the back of his head. He felt the prickle of the connection he shared with Trilla against his very being, like a thorn in his side that somehow seemed to cut deeper and deeper. He turned in alarm, but it subsided faintly. _It’s warning me_ , he realized. 

He focused on his breath, in and out, until he was able to ignore it and press on.

It made its swift return at the worst possible time. 

Cal pushed at the connection as he felt it surge toward him; it wasn’t the right time for such a distracting opening in the Force, especially since he was facing off an army of Nightbrothers trying to murder him. He parried an attack from a Nightbrother, making him stagger, and delivered a killing blow. Pain flamed through his calf as an arrow cut through his skin from another Nightbrother, and he fell to one knee with a grunt. The final Nightbrother hadn’t been happy about his fellow brother’s death, Cal observed, but it made him all the more willing to finally end the fight. He fired another arrow before Cal could deflect it, and he had to dodge it to avoid the hit. His calf burned with such pain that he was left almost dizzy, but he managed to deflect the next arrow back at the Nightbrother and take him down quickly. 

Cal shut off his saber and braced his arms before him. He caught his breath on his hands and knees, his calf throbbing painfully beneath him. BD-1 spoke in a series of beeps and offered Cal a healing stim before he could ask.

He took the healing stim gratefully. “Thanks, buddy,” Cal said. 

When he stabbed the healing stim down on his shoulder, he closed his eyes in relief as the painful ache in his calf dulled to an itch to nothing at all. He dropped the empty stim, opened his eyes, and saw Trilla standing before him. He stood to his feet, his calf feeling warm and new, and faced her. 

The first thing he noticed was the blood that left a crimson trail from Trilla’s lip to her chin. A betraying thought threatened to form, but he pushed it away. She was wearing her normal Inquisitor uniform, but her cape and mask were gone. Without the cape around her, he could see her body clearer—all long limbs and perfect curves. He could see the glint of sweat on her brow, her cheeks flushed ever so slightly from exertion, and he found himself holding his breath. She gripped a staff in her hand. 

She didn’t look particularly surprised to see him, but not pleased, either. “We really should stop meeting like this,” Trilla said, that hint of annoyed amusement in her voice. 

He took his saber from the ground and clipped it to his side. He didn’t reply. Her eyes scanned at his surroundings in question, but he knew she couldn’t see anymore of his surroundings than he could hers. 

“Where are you?” she asked. “It seems painfully dark, even for you.”

“I think it’s just you,” he retorted. 

She smiled at him, seeming genuinely amused by his words. “Funny,” she said, but her tone wasn’t warm. 

“What do you want?” 

“What a terrible question to ask, Cal Kestis,” she said. “You know what I want.”

“You’re not going to get it,” he shot. “I’m going to get it before you can even come close to getting your hands on it.”

“Which is why you’ll be the one to give it to me.”

“ _No_.”

Her eyes scanned across his face for a moment, and he nearly shuddered underneath such scrutiny. “I have greatly underestimated you—your determination, your rage, your sorrow.”

 _Stay out of my head_ , Cal wanted to snap at her. But he knew she couldn’t control what was between them, just like he couldn’t. 

He clenched his fists in anger, and his lip curled threateningly. “You don’t know anything about that.”

She leaned her head to one side. “Just like you don’t know anything about me?”

She was right, he knew. 

And he hated it.

His breath shook with the fury that coursed through him _._ “You’re a monster,” he spat. 

It was words he had spoken to her before, caught in a rage on Zeffo, when she’d hacked into the Mantis’ communications. To his surprise, she flinched at the words. It was brief, barely noticeable, but he’d seen it. 

Her eyes narrowed and she stepped toward him slowly. She was so close to him that he could see the slight, dark circles underneath her eyes, the bright green of her eyes, the pores of her skin. “Don’t you know? We’re all monsters. Some of us,” she whispered, “just hide it better than others.”

“I’m no monster,” he said. “I’m _nothing_ like you.”

He was struck by how close they were, how striking she looked, and how the look in her eyes was unlike any he’d ever seen before. It was confident, tenacious, but also full of misery. He wondered if his hand would touch her skin if he reached out—would such a thing be possible, across a galaxy? It was a startling thought. Touch was sacred to him, probably the holiest of things he could imagine, because of his psychometry… and he’d still wondered what it would be like to touch Trilla. Would he be able to sense something more from the touch of her skin beneath his hands? 

Her lips twitched up, threatening a smile. “So righteous…” she murmured. 

Her expression was vicious with determination as her gaze dropped to his lips before meeting his eyes. She let out a shuddering breath, a sound that seemed to course through his very bones, and he found himself stepping toward her. The step toward her felt like an invitation, a reckoning of a truth he sensed. Something else gleamed in her eyes, a touch of unmistakable concupiscence, and suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

A lingering fantasy from the dead of the night flooded into his thoughts, one he’d tried to keep at bay and failed to, and a need rushed through him that made him feel as if he were dying. 

“We are far more alike than you think, Kestis,” she whispered. “When you finally decide when you want to see it, you know where I’ll be.”

He blinked in disbelief, and she was gone once again. He stood there for a moment, in the aching silence of the temple, unable to move or process anything that had happened. Something had shifted between them, something that should’ve revolted him beyond belief.

Except he wasn’t revolted. 

He wasn’t revolted at all. 

In fact, he wanted it, too. 

+

His mind raced with what had occurred between him and Trilla as he moved forward. Time and time again, he attempted to shake the thoughts away only for them to flood back into his mind. It was as irritating and persistent as the bond itself, and for the first time, Cal wished he could sever the connection himself. But even as the thought came to him, he couldn’t say he was sure he would do such a thing if he had the opportunity. 

Even though he knew it was the right choice. 

When had that happened? 

The thoughts shifted to accommodate the sight before him. He had finally made it to the temple—after fighting Nightsisters, Nightbrothers, and a _Gorgara_ , of all things—he’d done it. Now, his only concern was facing whatever obstacle lay within and getting one step closer to finding the holocron. 

_And not getting distracted by Trilla_ , he added. 

Cal pressed a hand to the temple’s entrance, and he felt the slight shiver of the Force, but nothing more. _Hm_. He turned, glanced momentarily at the ground, and decided to meditate. 

Perhaps he’d get a semblance of a hint on what to do next. 

_Cal rose to his feet, his Padawan robes a new weight over him, and stepped out of his room._

No.

This wasn’t happening. 

_Cal walked through the Star Destroyer. He heard words from clone troopers about new orders, something Master Tapal had discussed briefly with him throughout his training over the last few days. He wasn’t sure what it was about, exactly, but he trusted the Republic._

_They’d protect him. They always had._

_Cal walked into the training room. “Master Tapal?” he called out._

_“Padawan,” Jaro Tapal greeted. “It is time for instruction.”_

It had been a normal training day, but one that meant the world. Cal had chased after becoming a Jedi Knight for as long as he could remember. He couldn’t fathom a greater honor. He would be getting one step closer to that faraway dream that day. He’d been so young, so innocent, so unaware of the tragedy to come. 

And then, there were the words that set in motion the rest of his life: _“Execute Order 66.”_

Too young to understand, too young to grasp the severity of it, too young to be thrust into the circumstances he found himself in. 

_“Cal, hurry!” Master Tapal called out as he held off the clone troopers firing upon him._

_Cal couldn’t focus. His mind was whirling, heart racing, hands shaking on the pod’s control panel._ What was happening? _he kept asking himself._ What’s going on? 

_And then Master Tapal was scorched with blaster fire. “Master!” Cal yelled._

_The Master still stood. One small glance at Cal, and he knew he’d do anything to protect his Padawan. Even if he wouldn’t make it out alive, Cal was a promise, a hope, for a future that could be different from whatever was happening. He must be protected, no matter what. Master Tapal tugged harshly on the Force and shot three clone troopers into the ceiling of the room, and they toppled against the ground without another move._

_The other clone troopers fired on the Master, and while Cal had seen it as a miracle that he’d been able to get up before, he wasn’t sure he could again. He didn’t want to think about what that meant. “No!” he yelled and stood before Master Tapal with pleading eyes._

_They still fired on him. Cal cried out in pain as a shot charred the skin across his jawline. He screamed and extended his hands toward them. He wasn’t even thinking, not really—all he’d been thinking about was doing_ anything _in the desperation to keep Master Tapal safe. There was a moment of cease fire, and Cal didn’t glance back for a moment to see what he’d done before he was disappearing into the pod and escaping into the infinite space beyond._

 _Master Tapal lay sprawled on the pod’s ground, and Cal noticed just how many blaster shots had gotten through. His heart sank. He knelt beside his Master, eyes frantic as he searched for something,_ anything, _he could do. He was shaking, his mind turning over with the tragic inevitable rising to meet him, but—_

That can’t be, _young Cal thought._ No, no, no—

_“Cal,” Master Tapal called, a hand rising to his shoulder to bring Cal to look at him. “Cal, I overloaded the ship’s reactors. The explosion will mask our escape. This… war is not over, my Padawan.”_

_His Master’s words were too real, too final. Cal’s lip trembled._

_“Hold the line. Wait for the Jedi Council’s signal.”_

_He struggled to push his lightsaber into Cal’s hand, but he managed to, and he held his Padawan’s hand one final time. “Remember,” he choked out. “Trust only in the Force.”_

_“Yes, Master.”_

_Master Tapal’s body went limp, and Cal watched as that familiar spark in his eyes dwindled into nothingness before him. Shock settled over him first, and he could only stare at his Master’s lifeless form with his lightsaber still gripped in his hand. He could still feel the remnant of his Master’s life alive in his hand, in his Master’s weapon. There was fear, desperation, and hope—all for Cal, all for his future, all for what he could be. And a love that knew no bounds._

_He’d risked his life,_ sacrificed _his life, to save Cal, and what had Cal done in return?_

_The ache in his chest tightened._

_Then the explosion came, rattling the ship entirely, and he shuffled across his Master’s body to fall back against a seat in the escape pod. Sparks flew inside the pod. Cal brought his knees up to his chest, clutching onto his Master’s saber like a lifeline, and shut his eyes tightly. The escape pod soared toward its destination, the final hope of a loyal and selfless Master, and there was no one to hear the cries and screams of the Padawan within._

Cal’s eyes opened into a smoke-filled space. 

He stood to his feet. 

“Padawan,” a voice called from the shadows, and Jaro Tapal stepped into view. “It is time for instruction.”

His insides ran cold, and guilt washed over him again. But he still ignited his lightsaber and stepped forward. He attacked, but Master Tapal parried it with ease.

“Your fear cost me my life!” his Master yelled. 

Cal thought of Master Tapal’s blank eyes staring into nothingness, almost taunting him at his failure. _This was your doing_ , little Cal had felt those eyes say. _You did this._

Cal clenched his jaw and charged forward again. 

“You will always be weak.”

He thought of the crash landing of the pod, how he’d dragged Master Tapal’s body out of the wreck, how hopeless he felt alone and stranded with no one to offer any help. _Please, Master,_ little Cal had said to his body. _Please, you have to tell me what to do._

 _Stop_ , Cal wanted to yell, but words failed him. He continued the pointless fight, lost in the motions.

“Show me your strength!” Master Tapal continued. 

He thought of the ache in his arms as he’d created a makeshift grave for his Master that deserved so much more. That deserved a better Padawan, someone braver and stronger, someone who wouldn’t have let him die the way he had. Someone who could have saved him. 

“Your will is weak. You lack discipline.”

He thought of the way he’d clawed fearfully at the Jedi braid that brushed along his neck. The Republic had turned on the Jedi and they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, he’d seen that plainly, and with such an distinguishable feature of the Jedi on him… He’d torn off a piece of his clothing and stuffed it into his mouth. And then, he’d taken hold of his Master’s lightsaber, ignited it, and shut his eyes tightly. 

“Fear rules you. As always.” 

_Forgive me,_ little Cal had thought.

And he’d charred off the braid, burning agonizingly against his skin. His vision had gone white. His scream had been muffled against the cloth in his mouth. His breath had come out heavily from his nostrils, flaring to accommodate the air he sucked into his lungs as he tried to grasp back onto reality in the midst of the pain. He’d tossed the cloth away. His vision was blurred, heat warming his cheeks, and he'd realized he was crying again. 

He’d still placed his braid with his Master, hands shaking, and even worse was finding a way to light the horrid, disgraceful pyre he’d scavenged. 

_Forgive me_ , he’d thought through the tears. _Forgive me. Forgive me._

His chest ached. It was as if his thoughts had been plucked from his mind and thrown back at him in the cruelest way imaginable, worse than his nightmares. Cal screamed and buried the blade of his lightsaber into Master Tapal’s torso. 

“Yes,” Master Tapal said. “My blood is on your hands, apprentice.”

Cal watched in horror, and as the thought formed to stumble back from such a sight, Master Tapal’s hands gripped his hands in place. “You are a failure,” he said. “A weakling. A _traitor_. You are no Jedi.” 

“No!” Cal screamed. 

Everything faded, and Cal was back at the entrance of the temple, alone. He looked down at his lightsaber—his Master’s lightsaber—to see it broken. He let out a shuddering, defeated breath and clipped it to his side without a second glance. His hands shook at his sides, and he clenched them into fists. There was a cutting edge of something inside him, filled to the brim with too many emotions he couldn’t even begin to decipher. He found himself fighting back tears. 

“BD?” Cal called.

BD-1 beeped sympathetically.

“Thanks,” he said, too aware of the crack in his voice. “Let’s just get outta here. I can’t explain. Not sure I even understand.”

+

Cal wanted off the cursed planet as soon as he could manage. As soon as he’d stepped out of the ruins, the strange wanderer had returned. Something didn’t quite sit right with Cal by his reappearance, and even less so when he started speaking. 

And then it became clear when the wanderer had dropped his dark cloak, revealing silver hair, mutilated skin, and _lightsabers._ “Taron Malicos,” he introduced. “Former Jedi, like yourself. We have much in common.”

Cal didn’t believe that. “I doubt that.”

“Oh? We both survived The Purge. My troops betrayed me. I was forced to strike them down and I escaped. This… desolate place. The darkness here. It almost took me. But I conquered it.”

Realization struck him. “You’re the one the Nightbrothers follow,” Cal said. 

Malicos laughed, and the sound left his skin crawling. “Yes,” he confirmed. “These savages only respect strength. And as we both know, the Force is a most powerful ally.”

“No,” Cal objected. “No, you use the Force to seize power. That’s everything the Jedi stood against.”

 _You’re one to talk_ _about what Jedi stood against,_ Cal thought. He thought about Trilla—the heat of her body, the gleam in her eyes, and the overwhelming need that had rushed through him when they’d last spoken. It was forbidden. He’d still invited it in, encouraged it, even. And here he was talking about Jedi principles when he’d welcomed something he shouldn’t have. 

_Traitor_ , Master Tapal had called him. 

He pushed the thought away.

“These are _dark times_ ,” Malicos emphasized, clearly frustrated. “They will consume us if we do not stand with each other.”

“I don’t need your help,” Cal assured. He turned to leave, but Malicos’ words stopped him in his tracks. 

“That broken lightsaber tells a different tale,” he observed. “You saw something in there, didn’t you? Something terrible.” 

Cal felt like he’d been punched in the gut at the mention, and those haunting images flashed across his vision once again. Things that had haunted him on Bracca, leaving him gasping in the humid, industrial air in his cramped quarters. Things that followed him throughout his journey on the Mantis.

Things that followed him with his interactions with Trilla. 

He closed his eyes for a brief moment and turned back to Malicos. 

“There are many such places here on Dathomir. Join my family,” Malicos offered, “and I can teach you how to control its power.” 

“Join my family?” a voice called. 

Cal turned to see the Nightsister appear in a flash of green light on a towering column above them. “And I will teach you to control the power?” she continued, face hard. “Familiar words, Malicos.”

Cal suddenly felt like he’d walked into something that didn’t involve him. 

“Sister Merrin,” Malicos greeted, though the tone of his voice was nothing like a welcoming embrace. “You overstep your bounds.”

“For years you said the Jedi orchestrated the massacre that killed my Sisters,” Nightsister Merrin said. Cal turned to Malicos in surprise, but the former Jedi didn’t show any betraying expression on his features. “Yet here one stands, and you seek only to bring him into your family.”

“You were told to deal with it,” Malicos snapped. “Clearly, you lack the power, little witch!”

“Power? You are mad, Malicos. Dathomir has unmade you, and my misplaced loyalty has allowed you to lead the Nightbrothers astray. Unlike the Jedi, the Nightsisters of Dathomir do not turn on their kind. Our bond is eternal.”

“Your sisters are dead!” Malicos shot, almost provoking. 

“Yes,” Nightsister Merrin agreed. “Their graves are all around you.”

Cal’s heart dropped. It was then that he realized just how much trouble they were in, especially with his broken saber. “Time to go,” he whispered to BD-1. 

Before Cal could allow himself any space to make a decision, the Nightsister chanted strange words, filling the air around them with the dark brilliance of her magick. He faltered as bodies slipped from hanging graves, gripping his lightsaber instinctively, only to realize why he couldn’t use it. He was defenseless. 

“Foolish girl!” he heard Malicos yell. “This power is beyond your control!”

“You both shall learn,” Nightsister Merrin promised. “When you face one Nightsister of Dathomir, you face us all!”

The Nightsister disappeared in an all-consuming fire of emerald, resigning both he and Malicos to their fates. Cal watched as the bodies that fell rose to their feet, eyes glowing green. Without a weapon to defend himself, he found himself observing them with twisted interest. Their forms were inhuman, almost broken, as they tried to infuse their neglected muscles and bones with life that had been so far long ago disposed of. It was sickening. 

“Run,” Malicos growled before running in the opposite direction.

Cal didn’t need to be told twice.

He ran. 

+

Cal stumbled onto the Mantis, his legs aching and his lungs heaving. “Get us out of here!”

He felt the ship jolt as it rose into the air. “What’d you do, kid?” Greez asked in bewilderment. “I got dead witches crawling all over my ship!”

“Just go,” Cal panted out. “Just go.” 

The adrenaline from his escape subsided, and the weight of everything he’d seen rushed over him in a violent wave. He didn’t want Greez to see him this way, and especially not Cere, but he couldn’t bring himself to escape to the back of the ship. He slipped to the ground, his Master’s lightsaber in his hands. He wasn’t sure how he was alive, if he was being honest with himself. The pressure in his chest felt like his heart had been carved out of him, but it somehow still beat, uninterrupted by the turmoil wrecking through him. 

Cere knelt beside him almost instantly, concern bright in her eyes. “What happened?” she asked. “Did you find The Tomb?” 

He took a breath, tried to grasp onto words, but his mind was a blank slate save for the awful memories he kept seeing. He extended his hand toward her. “Your Master’s lightsaber,” she observed. 

“I saw him,” he choked out. “Master Tapal, I… I saw the day he died. I saw what I did.”

“Cal…” she began, but the words that had escaped him were now coming in too quickly for him to stop. Words that had been buried inside him for five terrible years rose in his throat, nearly suffocating him. 

“Now it’s destroyed,” he choked out. “I couldn’t save him.”

Her eyes were incredulous. “Cal, you were only a child,” she reasoned. 

“No,” he objected. “No, I know I could have helped him if I’d been stronger and braver, if I would have listened to him. I could have helped him. I _know_ it.”

“Cal, it’s time I told you everything that happened to me when I escaped the Empire,” she said, exasperated. She took a seat on the ground in front of him, and by the troubled look on her face, he knew recounting the memories wasn't an easy feat, just like his own. “They brought Trilla in the room and when I saw her eyes… they showed me what I had caused.”

Cal couldn’t bear to look at her. “She was an Inquisitor…” Cere continued. Something shuddered in the back of his mind, an old memory attempting to pry free, but it settled underneath the pressure. “And something in me gave, and I lost control. And I tapped… into the dark side.” 

He forced his gaze to meet hers, to see the pain he’d seen in Trilla abundant in Cere’s eyes, too. It had been wrong of him to be cross with her over what had happened, he understood that now. Both she and Trilla had been subject to a level of torture that he’d hopefully never have to endure, and it had torn them both apart. 

“And I killed them all…” Cere said. “Every last one of them. Except for her. And for years… I couldn’t forgive myself. I was a wreck. Because I had all this rage… and I tried pushing it down but there was no hiding from myself… and all I wanted to do was _die_.”

Cal closed his eyes. He couldn’t say the feelings were far from his own.

“But then I learned about the holocron. A spark of hope that there could be a future. That we could move on.” She stood to her feet. “Get up.”

He hesitated for a moment, but he still forced himself to his feet. “I can’t change what I did no more than you can change what happened to your Master. It’s in the past,” Cere reassured, “but Cal, you have to make a choice to move on.”

His voice was desperate. “How?”

“You’re going to start with this,” she said, pointing to his Master’s lightsaber. She grasped the ends of the weapon with her hands, mirroring his grip. “You are going to build a new one.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An incredible friend made this beautiful art comic for this chapter on Cal and Trilla's force bond scene that you can find [here.](https://twitter.com/ardentlyeyes/status/1330866051270156288?s=20) Go support this lovely artist on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/ardentlyeyes)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trilla update, as promised! I’ll be updating again once I get the chance in between my studies, but until then, I hope you enjoy! 🥺❤️

**“** _Nothing’s fair in love and war._ **”**

**Fortress Inquisitorius, Nur, 14 BBY**

Trilla stepped onto the Empire’s ship. She could feel the stormtroopers surprised eyes at the sight of her. She couldn’t blame them. Her fingertips were bloodied on broken nail beds and she was covered head to toe in mud. Inquisitors weren’t notorious for getting so messy on missions, though she didn’t quite understand why. If they were going to be hunting Jedi, they might as well not have such ill responses to what it took. 

She could feel a stormtrooper on the cusp of saying something about her appearance, but she beat them to it, snapping, “ _Don’t you dare_.”

“Where’s Ninth Sister?” another asked after a momentary pause. 

“She’s dead,” Trilla said simply. 

The stormtroopers shifted nervously around her presence, but didn’t say anything. The flight back to the Inquisitorius was accompanied with nothing but silence. However, Trilla’s mind was anything but. 

+

When Trilla stepped down the gurney, she noticed Seventh Sister had been awaiting her return. The Mirialan was smiling slyly with her eyes averted. Upon notice of Trilla’s presence, she took in the sight of her with obvious disapproval. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Trilla replied as she moved to brush past the Inquisitor. “Besides, I need to see the Grand Inquisitor—”

“No, actually,” she interrupted. Trilla stopped short and turned back to Seventh Sister, brows furrowed. “He doesn’t request your presence until we’ve returned from Ontotho.”

“Why’s that?”

She shrugged. “His orders.”

Suspicion tugged at her. The Grand Inquisitor always summoned her presence after missions, especially such vital ones as these. Especially if an Inquisitor had died under her command. Not that he’d question or blame her for Ninth Sister’s death. They both knew the Inquisitor was her own version of reckless… _But_ careless or not, it was nearly customary to speak with him after each return. 

She shook her head, as if the movement would allow the words to make sense. “Ninth Sister is _dead_ ,” Trilla objected. “I was on that mission with her, and the Grand Inquisitor doesn’t want to speak to me?”

“There are more important things to be worried about.”

 _Of course,_ Trilla thought. She should not have expected the Grand Inquisitor to care, nor the Inquisitorius. The Empire’s concern was simple: use you for what you could offer, and nothing more. 

“Very well,” Trilla said. “Is there something I should know about the mission? About the Jedi?”

“No,” Seventh Sister said curtly. “We leave at dawn tomorrow. Be ready.” 

Before Trilla could say anything else, Seventh Sister turned and disappeared into the Inquisitorius. She stood there for a moment in bafflement. When Kestis’ existence had gotten around to them, there had been a possible sighting, confirmation of the use of the Force, and several other rumors, but not _nothing_. 

She wanted to believe she was overthinking it, wanted to believe that it was just an anxious reaction to letting the Jedi go earlier, but she couldn’t.

Something was wrong. 

+

Trilla couldn’t sleep. 

Her sleep had always felt restless since becoming an Inquisitor, but these days, it was especially so. She would find herself dreaming of red flames of hair and freckles dotted along skin like a starry night. This time, she’d been woken by the smallest glimmer of a warning from her bond with the Jedi, threatening to connect them again, and she couldn’t manage to ignore it. 

Her mind was a battlefield, torn between her position and the Jedi. She could not believe that she’d allowed him to escape. She was an Inquisitor — it was her job to be rid of Jedi — and she’d willingly allowed one to go free. The Inquisitorius would have her struck down if they knew the truth. She was a traitor, wasn’t she? Other Inquisitors had been killed for less, and yet, Trilla had done one of the most treasonous acts against the Empire.

Her suspicions over the Grand Inquisitor’s decision not to see her only proved her conflict further. She would have brushed it off before, but she didn’t have that luxury anymore. Had Ninth Sister said something to him before they were deployed? Had Ninth Sister worried that Trilla would turn on her and allowed her heedless threat to take form, in the case she didn’t return alive? Is that why Seventh Sister had refused her any information on the new Jedi they’d discovered? Because Trilla was a liability, and therefore, untrustworthy? 

She’d put the Empire at risk, put _herself_ at risk. And for what? A Jedi with a nice face? A Jedi that she _knew_? Trilla pushed the thoughts away and stood from her bed. She wasn’t going to be sleeping tonight, so she wouldn’t bother trying any longer. 

She put on her lighter uniform and slipped away from her quarters. 

+

Third Sister grunted as she landed hard on her back.

“Again!” Trilla yelled, her patience thinning.

It was early, too early for training, but Trilla didn’t care. She was grateful she could use the newly transitioned Inquisitors as she’d liked, not that she ever did, but she couldn’t deny the fight they always put up. There were rough, sharp edges to new Inquisitors that dulled over time. They were the most ruthless after the torture they were subjected to, their old memories still close to them and their new positions a grand insult. It would take time to break them in, to change them entirely, but Trilla could use the challenge when there was a fever burning underneath her skin. 

She had been foolish to let the Jedi escape, and she’d been even more so to think of him so fondly. Such thoughts were dangerous, such thoughts would kill her. _To love is to destroy._ Cere had taught her that when she’d turned on her and left her bleeding with a knife in her back. The Jedi would be no different… or, at least, that was what she was trying to convince herself of.

She paced before the fallen Inquisitor, her willingness for mercy fading by the second. Third Sister stood back up, and Trilla smiled. The Inquisitor’s blue eyes shone nearly black as she faced Trilla. Trilla stepped forward in encouragement. Third Sister swung, teeth bared, and their staffs collided against each other. The Inquisitor swung again and again, unrelenting as she gained rhythm again, as she allowed herself to be fueled by her pain and anger. 

_Yes,_ Trilla thought. _Show me your suffering, show me your rage._

The thrill returned as Trilla fought against her opponent, her mind racing to catch up to her attacks. To find a way to get her down again. To leave her confidence crumbling. 

Third Sister stabbed her staff toward Trilla’s midsection. Trilla moved to block the strike, and as she did, Third Sister spun and slammed her staff against her back. She cried out as pain flamed across her back, nearly destabilizing her, but she swung instead. The end of Trilla’s staff made contact with Third Sister’s jaw, throwing her off balance, and Trilla advanced. She swung her staff again, and she was surprised when the Inquisitor blocked the strike. 

There was a new flare in the Inquisitor's eyes that Trilla relished. And so the fight continued, staffs crashing against each other, snapping harshly against skin, and bruises forming underneath their sharp contact. It went on for what seemed like hours, Trilla’s muscles burning as she tried to purge the image of the Jedi from her mind. 

She recognized the thrum of the Force in the air as Seventh Sister stepped into the training room, catching her off guard. Third Sister hit her across the face, hard. Blood pooled into her mouth, and that was all it took for her to unleash her anger. Trilla wasn’t sure how she’d done it, but suddenly, Third Sister’s arm was braced behind her as she struggled. And she broke it. She pushed her away from her, and the Third Sister fell to the ground, groaning harshly in pain and dragging her limp arm behind her. 

“Enough,” Seventh Sister called. 

Trilla ignored her, watching over Third Sister on her hands and knees. 

Third Sister clawed at the ground, her blonde hair coming free from the knot holding it back. She gripped her staff harshly in her opposite hand, knuckles white against the steel black of the weapon, and swung out towards Trilla’s legs. She dodged the swing with ease and kicked her foot against the Inquisitor’s face. There was a sickening crack against her foot as Third Sister’s nose broke, but she was lucky. The Inquisitorius wasn’t quite so kind, and Ninth Sister’s missing limbs could prove it. 

Trilla hadn’t noticed Seventh Sister moving until she took hold of her arm, harshly enough to pull her away. “I said that’s _enough_ ,” she snarled. 

Trilla’s eyes met Seventh Sister’s with matched ferocity and yanked her arm away. 

“What is with you, recently?”

 _Doesn’t everyone want to know_. Trilla was getting annoyed that Inquisitors kept questioning her actions. She was angry, wasn’t that enough? 

“As if they haven’t suffered worse,” she snapped.

And then Third Sister started sobbing, choking against mucus and blood pooling from her shattered nose. It wasn’t a nice sight to behold, Trilla must say. New Inquisitors were ruthless, but it came at a price: they broke so easily. 

“We’re not going to be getting rid of much Jedi if you keep bringing in _weaklings_ like these,” Trilla shot. 

_Weak like you?_ she thought to herself, but it seemed like Seventh Sister had followed the same train of thought. 

“You’re one to talk,” Seventh Sister snapped. “Hasn’t the same Jedi gotten away from you three times already?” 

Trilla didn’t reply. She wasn’t interested in wasting her time arguing. 

“We leave soon,” Seventh continued. “Be ready, why don’t you? And stop terrorizing what I bring in, while you’re at it. Leave that to me.” 

She watched as Seventh Sister dragged Third Sister out of the training room. She’d probably throw her into a torture chamber for the day for refinement, and that sharp inkling of guilt prickled at Trilla’s conscience. She had been harsher with Third Sister than she had intended to be, but that always seemed to happen when she was angry. 

She had done the same with Kestis when he’d wounded her on Zeffo. Images flashed across her vision: a shocked face, a terrified stumble, blood pooling on the ground. She closed her eyes and shoved it to the back of her mind. The thought of hurting him again left shame flooding through her. _Disgraceful_ , she chastised. 

Trilla wiped at her mouth, hissing as it grazed torn skin, but blood had already slipped down her chin. She felt the shudder then, the shift in the air as her connection with the Jedi returned. She gripped her staff harder. 

_You shouldn’t engage,_ she told herself. _He makes you weak._

She still turned toward him. 

He’d been wounded.

She watched as he took hold of a healing stim from his droid and stabbed it down onto his shoulder. He closed his eyes, lips parting to form a sigh of relief, as the stim took its effect. She was captivated by the sight. Sweat had built on the Jedi’s skin from whatever battle he was fighting on another backwater planet she was sure he’d found. She wondered what his skin would taste like under her tongue. _Get a grip_ , she chastised.

When the Jedi opened his eyes, they found the wound at her mouth first. She pondered the possibility of his thoughts. Was he thinking of the taste of her blood in his mouth if he grazed his lips against her skin, if he took her mouth into his? She hoped he was — she hoped he felt the burning underneath his skin that she did. She hoped he hated himself for it. 

The Jedi didn’t appreciate her greeting, nor did he appreciate anything else she had to say. He seemed calmer this time, despite the annoyance etched on his face, but all it took was the right words for that fire to ignite in him again. _There it is_ , she recognized. 

It became apparent to her what they were both doing then. How much could she push what so clearly pulsed between them? How far could she test his loyalties without either of them slipping on the tightrope they were so fearlessly walking along?

Perhaps he hadn’t realized it yet. 

“You’re a monster,” he snapped, and Trilla still resisted the urge to reach out toward him, to grip his chin between her fingers, to see just how close he would allow her to get. 

“Don’t you know?” she murmured. “We’re all monsters. Some of us just hide it better than others.”

“I’m no monster,” he shot back, nearly immediately. “I’m _nothing_ like you.”

But there was still that quiver in his expression, the momentary flicker of doubt. She’d nearly smiled. “So righteous…”

She so desperately wanted to dig into him and claw out every thought he’d had of her. She craved to know what she would find hiding in the dark corners of his mind. Would she stumble upon her presence and find it to be as prevalent as his occupance in hers? 

He had stood his ground in her approach again. That spark of defiance still lit up his eyes. Would that remain if she leaned in and pressed her lips harshly against his, if she pushed him into the ground? She wouldn’t jeopardize her position further by doing such a thing, even if she wanted to, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t entertain the thought of it once or twice. Or several times. 

Certainly not when she could see the image so plainly in her mind, unguarded from his eyes, and _see_ the reaction on his face. She expected resistance, perhaps anger, maybe even for him to call her something equally terrible and loathsome. But instead, to her surprise, his eyes softened in surprise, tinged with a new luminesce, and he stepped toward her. 

Almost inviting her to do as she wished. 

She held firm. 

“We are far more alike than you think, Kestis,” she whispered. “When you finally decide when you want to see it, you know where I’ll be.” 

He was there one moment, and gone the next. She’d wanted to spare his life, and she had. But now, she wanted something else, too. 

_Weak_ , she scolded. 

_Deplorable._

She gripped her staff harder and clenched her jaw. 

_Traitor_. 

She screamed and flung her staff out into the air. Her sight followed it, expecting it to clatter against metal, but it landed gracefully in the hands of another person. She straightened.

“Grand Inquisitor,” she said. 

Trilla immediately shielded her thoughts. Had he been prying into her mind? And if he had, how much had he seen? She scolded herself. She had been so caught up in her interaction with the godforsaken Jedi that she hadn’t taken notice of a threat in her midst. 

He approached her silently, his gaze steady. “Quite a bit of frustration to harbor when you’re going on a mission,” he commented. He grazed a finger across her chin to tilt her head up, and she pressed down against the wave of revulsion that came over her. She tilted her head up and away from his grip, eyes hard. “I do hope it’s properly balanced…”

“Of course, Grand Inquisitor,” she said. 

He looked down at his finger where he’d caught her blood on his gloves. He pressed his thumb over it to smear it away. He smiled slightly at her. “You’ll report to me tomorrow,” he said. “I have business to attend to today.”

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I’m surprised you didn’t pass on the message with Seventh Sister,” she remarked.

His mouth twisted into a smile. “I would have,” he admitted, “but I wanted to see you one last time before you left.”

She swallowed. She hated that she didn’t know what he was going to do or say. It was always easy for her to anticipate the actions of her enemies, but Inquisitors… they were always unpredictable. It was a dislikable factor when one had reason for them to be suspicious. 

He took a sudden interest in her staff, rolling it in his hands. “The past is a sword with several edges, Second Sister…” he said quietly. “Joy, regret, love, shame, but above all… _weakness_.” His eyes found hers. “That is at the heart of all our pasts… and we must kill it to become who we were meant to be. It is the only path forward.”

Trilla held her breath. He stared at her a moment too long. She waited for an accusation, a demand for the truth, or maybe a swift death she knew she didn’t deserve. Instead, he gave her a small smile. “Just a reminder,” he assured, “but you know the Inquisitorius well enough already, don’t you?” 

He offered her her staff, and she slowly took it. “Yes, Grand Inquisitor,” she said, forcing a facade of confidence into the words. “Better than most, I’d say.”

“Of course.” He stepped away from her, waving a hand to show that he was no longer blocking her path, and she blinked. “I’ll be looking forward to your return.”

“And I, yours,” she said.

She forced her feet to move. She could feel his eyes burning into her back as she left the training room. Her heart raced. 

His words rang in her mind: _We must kill it to become who we were meant to be_ . _It is the only path forward._ Her mind had whirled with every possibility of discovery when she’d returned to Kashyyyk, but now it was clear. The Empire knew something, and she was about to find out what.

+

She felt on edge. 

Trilla’s awareness felt sharp, sawed to a knife’s edge with the Grand Inquisitor’s words and what she’d felt from Kestis. She had stumbled upon her own version of trouble, and so had the Jedi. She had felt it in her chambers, moments before leaving. It had been subtle at first. A small ache in her chest, but it quickly morphed into a dreadful heaviness. The images of his past that she’d glimpsed after Bracca rushed back in full force. 

Something had happened to him, and he’d been forced to confront his past. She felt it heavy in her soul. It made her feel as if she, too, was on the cusp of something terrible. 

“The Grand Inquisitor tells me your former Master travels with the Jedi you’ve been trailing,” Seventh Sister said beside her. “Is that true?”

Trilla thought about the encouraging squeeze of Cere’s hand on her shoulder when she perfected another Jedi trick. She could almost see her former Master’s smile at her in her mind’s eye. She shoved the thought away. 

“Yes,” Trilla forced out. “What does that matter?”

“Has that made it harder for you?” she asked. “Finding the Jedi?”

Trilla angled her head toward the Inquisitor. “Why would it?” 

“Just wondering…”

“Any other _enlightening_ questions you want to ask?” Trilla snapped.

Seventh Sister scowled. “Is that bothersome?” Trilla opened her mouth, but the Inquisitor continued, “Might I remind you that you want them both dead as much as I do?” 

“And why would I need to be reminded of that?” 

“I’m just making sure that you don’t get distracted when the Grand Inquisitor’s orders, when the _Emperor’s_ orders, are clear.” 

“No need to be ominous, Seventh Sister,” Trilla challenged. “Spit it out.” 

Seventh Sister smiled. “There’s no need for that,” she assured. “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

Despite herself, a shiver crawled up Trilla’s spine. She _hated_ the cryptic talk the Inquisitors seemed interested in participating in, as of late. It was one thing to be the receiver of such words, and it was another to be the one speaking them. 

She didn’t like this side of it. 

She felt like prey. 

+

It was odd to be back on Ontotho. 

Trilla resented her memory that reminded her that Cere had been here once with Eno Cordova. The image of her former Master on the planet came clear to her. A peaceful mediator with a thirst for goodness, wielding a warrior’s blade. 

And a potential for the dark side that lurked beneath the surface.

She didn’t want to think about it. 

“The Jedi has been seen in this general vicinity,” Seventh Sister said. “We’ve traced movement on the planet, and it doesn’t extend too far from here. It seems like they’re alone.”

 _Alone, hiding, misunderstood._ It reminded her of Kestis. 

Trilla opened her mouth to form a plan, but Seventh Sister said, “I’ll take this area, but you can take a look around over there.” She gestured to a small hut in the distance, barely noticeable in the shrouding fog surrounding it. “We think that’s where they live. I’ve surrounded the planet with troops closing in on this location, so it’s only a matter of time.”

Trilla was used to being the head of missions that usually involved her peers, and to see Seventh Sister assume leadership made her blood boil. It was obvious that the Grand Inquisitor trusted Seventh far more than her on this particular mission. And she wanted to know why. 

“Fine,” she forced out through gritted teeth, before turning to the hut. 

Up close, the hut looked like a disaster. It was built in a rounded shape with jutted or missing blocks across the architecture. The Jedi was rather lucky that the snow on the planet turned to fog on impact. She wouldn’t feel safe withstanding any demanding weather inside it, let alone _standing_ inside it. But she was biased. She _had_ been living in Empire-made structures for years. 

Trilla stepped into the makeshift home on the planet. It was small and rather juvenile, but she supposed that didn’t matter. Shelter was shelter, after all. And Jedi in this day and age didn’t have much of a choice when it came to survival. Kestis himself had lived on Bracca. It wasn’t much of a surprise that other Jedi were salvaging the shelter and safety they could with the Empire constantly breathing down their necks. 

If Cere hadn’t betrayed her… would she be living a life like this one? A life on the run, hiding in the shadows? Would she have found Kestis with Cere? It was pointless to think about things that way. She still couldn’t help it. 

The hut was cluttered with life. In the middle of the small home was a round chimney, pots and pans across the mantelpiece surrounding it. There was a battered, old cot on the ground with a thin blanket. It was left unmade. Books cluttered across the space near the cot, stacked in piles or held up on shelves that looked as if they would collapse at any moment. It was a humble life this Jedi lived, in secret. 

She wondered what Kestis would think of this. To see Jedi texts and robes and items so unconcealed. As if there was no threat at all.

Trilla ran her hand across the Jedi texts on one of the shelves. It reminded her so strongly of her life before as a Padawan, all the hours she spent poring over books like these and her ears always tuned to hear what her Master had to say. She thought of her fellow Padawans — Sahar, Katryn, and the other faces to names she couldn’t remember, viciously blotted away with her torture — and her throat felt constricted. Those memories of joy and wonder and _life_ felt like a lifetime ago, almost like a dream.

She stopped. She hadn’t thought this way in years. She had refused to step back into what she had once known, but now, it was crawling it’s way back through her system. Was it the past Kestis was so haunted by that was bleeding through their bond from him to her? _Does it matter?_ she asked herself. 

She was relieved that Seventh Sister hadn’t followed her in here. 

There was a lump in her throat. 

Even after the torture she’d been subjected to, the strongest memories still remained. The Empire could burn away everything that you are, but they couldn’t change _who_ you used to be. _Perhaps that was the worst part,_ she thought, _remembering who you were and knowing what you have become._ Not every Inquisitor remembered, but Trilla had made sure to. She had clasped onto the memory of Cere, of the boy with the soft eyes, of every reminder of who she was, for dear life in those agonizing moments. She had been defiant, but she had still broken. 

Her naive younger self had hoped that she could escape this life, find a way back home, and reclaim the life she had been robbed of. Trilla had long abandoned that hope. There was no escaping the Empire, nor the life she now lived. She should’ve surrendered the memories she could and resigned to her fate to save herself the conflict. 

She would’ve been invincible that way. 

Kestis would be dead, and things would be easier. 

Something peaked her interest at the edge of the shelf, but as she turned her gaze toward it, the connection she felt with the Jedi pulsed. She dropped her hands to the edge of the shelf in surprise. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against her hands. She didn’t want to face him when she felt so vulnerable and unguarded. But the connection between them paid no mind to what either of them desired, and she felt it open behind her. 

She turned toward him, an infuriating comment on the tip of her tongue, and stopped short. Her heart sank. There was the shimmer of water before her.

And Kestis, unmoving and sinking into the depths, was drowning. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! Thank you all for the love and support this story continues to get. I know I sound like a broken record at this point, but it truly means the world to me that people are enjoying this as much as I’m loving writing it. I’m currently participating in NaNoWriMo to finish the rest of this story by the end of November, so hopefully, this will be completed before the new year. I’ll be doing my best to get another update to you all soon! Until then, thank you so so much and I hope you enjoy! ❤️

**“** _In life, in love, this time I can’t afford to lose._ **”**

**Ilum, 14 BBY**

Cal knew where they were. He could feel the weight of it in his heart, in his soul. Nothing inside of him felt prepared to walk through the planet again, to walk through his past. 

But he had a mission and a duty, and he would do what he had to. 

“Cal,” Cere called from beside him. “You will be tested.”

He glanced at her. “Yeah, but I’m ready.”

 _At least I hope I am,_ he thought honestly. 

“I don’t mean just here. Every Jedi faces the dark side,” she said. She held her own lightsaber in her hands and observed it. “And it’s very easy to fail.”

Cal blinked. “You’re still struggling with the dark side,” he noticed, “even after cutting yourself off from the Force.”

“We will always struggle, but that _is_ the test,” Cere assured. “It’s the choice to keep fighting that makes us who we are.”

Her words settled over him. It was comforting to hear such a message, especially from someone who had endured so much. She offered him the weapon, and he took it. He glanced down at it and took his own saber in his other hand. His former Master had given everything in his belief in him, and it seemed like Cere had done the same in her own way by gratefully giving a part of herself for him. He clipped both weapons to his sides.

“I guess it’s about time I find out who I am,” he said. Cere nodded, and there was a distant sadness in her eyes. “Cere?” 

She shook her head. “You remind me of her,” she said quietly. “The determination, the ambition, the hope… she had so much of that before…”

He didn’t have to hear a name to know who she was talking about. “She still does,” Cal said. “It’s just focused in the wrong place.” 

“I know.” 

“You wish things were different.”

“I think we both do,” Cere said, “in our own ways.” 

He stayed silent for a moment, and then asked, “Do you think she’d ever come back?”

Cere paused. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. She gave him a small smile. “Good luck out there.” 

When he stepped off the Mantis, the air on Ilum greeted him brutally. The wind whipped at his clothing, and each gust of it seemed to seep into his bones with a shivering, icy bite. The climate wasn’t unlike how he felt. But the emptiness of the planet was the harshest part. The silence was shrill, echoing off every surface, worlds away from the planet he’d stepped onto when he was far younger. 

Ilum was sacred to the Jedi, and it almost seemed as if the planet had a heart of its own.

It felt like it was grieving.

Cal wasn’t sure how long he stood there, and BD-1 beeped in question. “Yeah, buddy,” he assured. “I’m okay.”

He took a breath and began his journey. He kept seeing himself — his younger self — galaxies away, carried away in a different time where everything was the way it should have been. The warmth of his past contrasted with the grimness of his present. He followed in his former self’s footsteps, and each step was another cutting edge of everything he had lost. The weight in his chest only seemed more nuanced than ever before.

He could make out the shadow of the Jedi temple in the fog of the snow coating across the sky. “It’s the Jedi temple.”

BD-1 trilled.

His heart ached. “It’s been a while,” he answered honestly. “Yeah… I remember. Every Jedi comes here as a kid… or they did… when there were Jedi.”

He found a crack in the ice.

BD-1 offered a warning. 

“I’ll be careful,” Cal assured. 

Cal climbed and climbed and climbed, his muscles aching from the journey he had already taken over the past couple of days. He already had enough muscle to carry himself easily from all the years he’d spent as a scrapper on Bracca, but he never had to do much climbing for such long periods of time. He was desperate for another meal, and a warm one, at that, from the frigidity of the planet. 

His only consolation in the cold was the warm press of his connection with Trilla closing in once again. It settled over his bones like the tenderness of a fire in a chilly, dark night. In any other sense, he should have pushed it away, but he supposed using it as a means of survival was justifiable.

Or so he told himself. 

Cal managed to find his way into the caves within. He had slipped away from the harshness of the wind outside only to step into something just as unbearable. He could feel the weight of the planet’s history closing in on him, a sacred site terribly ripped away by violence. 

He could feel BD-1’s notice of his pause, of the shake in his breath, but the droid said nothing. At least not yet. Cal was grateful for the silence to reorient himself as much as he could. 

A kyber crystal gleamed in the distance, and he could feel the tug of it within him. A mirror of what he’d once felt as an innocent Jedi Padawan, all those years ago. It pained him to notice the parallel and everything that had changed since. “I feel it,” he said quietly. “It’s calling to me. We must be close.”

 _Beep boop_.

“Jedi can’t pick any kyber crystal,” Cal explained. “It chooses you.”

He thought about Trilla, then. She must’ve been here at some point and gotten her own crystal. A promise of a life bled away with the anguish she’d been forced to endure...

BD-1 spoke again, breaking through his thoughts. 

“Yeah,” Cal agreed, almost smiling, “kinda like you.”

He continued the journey toward the crystal. The droid made a small, hesitated sound. Cal’s brows furrowed. “Hm?” he encouraged. 

After a pause, BD-1 asked the question. 

Cal flushed, and shame flooded through him. He nearly stumbled where he was walking. “ _What?_ ” he asked incredulously. “There’s nothing going on with her…”

The droid let out an unconvinced series of sounds. 

“There’s no _but_ to this!” Cal objected. He sighed. “Trust me, it’s nothing. Don’t ask again.”

The words had come out sharper than he intended, but he didn’t want to think about what BD-1 had implied. It left a blazing ache unfurling in his chest. It was _wrong_. An awkward silence settled over them, and Cal knew BD-1 probably didn’t believe him. After all, it had been there during every interaction he and Trilla had. And the little droid had noticed more than it let on, probably far more than Cal had himself. 

He tried not to think about that. 

Cal ran his hand across a ledge, ice prickling coldly at the warmth on his skin, and traces of old memories rose to meet his touch. The wonder of a child, the hope of a promise, the smile of a Master. He removed his hand. 

“I feel like I’m surrounded by ghosts,” he whispered. 

BD-1 offered a gentle sound.

“No, I…” Cal responded, unsure where to begin, “I’m not alright. It’s hard to be here.”

The next signal from BD-1 was full of consolation, and Cal felt his throat close. He had gone through so much on his own in the past, and even on his current journey. At least now, it was more bearable with someone like BD-1 around. 

“Thanks, buddy,” he said, pushing back against the tears that threatened. 

Cal climbed onto the ledge leading further into the caves, and when he rose to his feet, he froze. An Empire droid was there. It turned its attention on them at their entrance. “It’s them!” he exclaimed. “How did they find us here?”

The Empire droid prepared to fire, and Cal’s instinctively closed his hand around his lightsaber before realizing. He had to dodge the shot it fired at him, and BD-1 let out a shrill sound at Cal’s delayed reaction. He slipped away from the cave, away from the droid’s line of fire.

But it didn’t matter. The Empire knew where he was now, and they’d be on his tail in no time. He needed to find that crystal as soon as he could.

Once he was sure he was safe, Cal opened the comm with the Mantis. “Cere, we’ve got a problem,” he said. “There are probe droids in the caverns.”

“There’s no way they could’ve put a tracker on us,” Cere said, “but I would have said the same about Trilla hijacking your comm. Greez and I will search the Mantis.”

 _Trilla._ Cal closed his eyes at the mention of her name. He thought about what had shuddered between them on Dathomir, what BD-1 had noticed between them, and he clenched his hands into fists.

“Thanks,” he replied, pushing the thoughts away. “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve got my crystal.” 

“You’re vulnerable out there,” she said. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“I won’t…” he replied. And then, like the absolute idiot he knew he was, he continued, “Cere, I’ve been wondering… what was Trilla like?”

“Before the Purge?” she asked. Cere paused, before adding, “Curious… She always wanted to know more about how everything worked. Always wanted to be the best she could be.”

Cal could see that girl clearly in his mind. He wondered how far buried she was now. He wondered what exactly it would take to bring her back to the surface. He hoped he would know someday. His lips twitched up. “That sounds like her.”

“Yes,” Cere said. “A more twisted version of her, but her, nonetheless.”

He closed his eyes. “Cere… I’m really sorry about before,” he said. “How I acted towards you… I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s okay, Cal. I understand. I… I couldn’t say I would’ve done differently if the roles were reversed.”

He let out a bitter chuckle and shook his head. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“I know it doesn’t, but still... Cal, you’ve been through so much. We both have. I should’ve been honest with you… but I didn’t know how to be. I don’t blame you for reacting the way you did. I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “For everything. I know I haven’t been the best, but you’ve been there for me when I let you be. I never thought I would find that again.”

“Of course, Cal.”

“I’ll be back soon,” he assured. “Be careful.”

“Forget us,” Cere said. “ _You_ be careful.”

“It’s not like the fate of the Jedi Order rests on me or anything,” he said lightly.

“ _Cal_.” Her voice was stern, but he could sense the smile in her tone.

“I’m going, Cere.”

He fought the desire to ask more about Trilla. Being in such close contact with someone who had known her intimately at some point, who had risked their life for hers, made him want to ask all the questions he wondered about. But he didn’t want to intrude or raise any alarm. Cere had been battling her own monsters when it came to Trilla and what had happened between them. He could imagine that those memories still felt like an open wound. 

But there were still so many things he wanted to know more about. What had she been like as a Padawan? Was there someone that ever peaked her interest? _Why would you want to know that?_ Cal asked himself. He pouted in annoyance. After a moment of scolding, he shut the comm off. 

But perhaps the worst thought that occurred to him was that Cal was mending his relationship with Cere, and his chest ached as he realized that Trilla might not get the same opportunity. That Cere wouldn’t get to salvage her relationship with the former Padawan she so clearly loved. And that, he too, wouldn’t be able to do anything with whatever connection he and Trilla shared.

+

Cal climbed.

An opening in the ice lingered before him.

“It’s through there,” he assured BD-1. “I can feel it. We’re almost out of here. I promise.”

Cal stepped out into the cave, and the ground collapsed underneath him. He fell to the edge of the ledge, clawing at the ice, and BD-1 beeped at him in panic. “BD-1!” Cal yelled. “Don’t come any closer!”

But he was already falling. 

The iciness of the water was so jarring that it knocked the breath out of him. It felt like what he imagined the swift swing of a lightsaber through a body would feel, relentless and unforgiving. It took all of his strength to force his body to move and find a way out. His body felt like it was slowly freezing over entirely and the edges of his vision blackened. His heart sunk at the probability that he would die here, helplessly, with no one to help or save him. 

He supposed, after everything, that perhaps he deserved it. 

Light gleamed down through the water from an opening, and he pushed himself to reach it. He was so close that he could practically feel the sharpness of the wintry air in his lungs once again, the crack of ice loud underneath his feet, the burn in his nostrils. His body resisted his attempts, slowing his movements, and his vision blurred. Then he was sinking further and further down into darkness…

A figure leaned down from the opening above him. He recognized himself, younger, in Jedi robes. “Trust me,” the young Padawan said, extending his hand.

As Cal’s hand reached for the Padawan’s offer, a hand closed around his wrist and he was hauled out from the water. He choked as air entered his lungs. He clawed at the ground beneath him, and then himself.

 _Alive_ , he confirmed. 

Darkness moved in his peripheral, and Cal’s eyes shifted toward it. He had just been saved from certain death by what he assumed would be a new friend, perhaps a miracle in the Force, but he was shocked to see it had been _Trilla_. His mind whirled. Cal shifted his body away from her with a start, despite the weakness heavy in his body, and forced himself to his feet. He held a hand out to her in warning, and she looked stunned. At the sight of her, his wrist burned with warmth where her hand had so clearly closed around it.

On Kashyyyk, the connection between them had prevented them from fighting. And now, it had allowed her to _touch_ him from across the galaxy. He was stunned. 

“What are you doing?” he choked out. 

“I just saved your life,” she responded. “A thank you would suffice.” 

Cal regarded her for a moment, glanced back at the kyber crystal glowing behind her, and returned his gaze back to her. From her stance and the rise and fall of her chest, he knew that the maneuver to save him had taken its toll on her. Suddenly, remembering what happened between them during their last connection, he felt warm all over.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, attempting to get his mind off their previous encounter. “Why did you save me?” 

Cal couldn’t help but notice how different she seemed since he’d last seen her. Her shoulders hung in defeat. Her expression seemed burdened by something he couldn’t place. And from their connection, there was a linger of sorrow shifting between them. It felt like he was looking into a mirror and his own pain was staring back at him. 

It was an odd sight on an Inquisitor.

Trilla tore her gaze from his, and for a moment, he was afraid he wouldn’t get an answer he was somehow desperate for. “You and your questions, Kestis,” she said, finally meeting his eyes. “What does it matter why I saved you or not?”

His eyes hardened. “Not many would regard you as the saving type.”

“Not many would regard you as one who needs saving,” Trilla shot, “and yet, here we are.”

She was avoiding the answer, and it was getting under his skin. “Tell me the truth,” he demanded.

Trilla let out an annoyed breath. “Why do you care so much?”

He thought about Kashyyyk, and the spark that had been prevalent in his mind as he stared out at the ruined canopy. “On the canopy in Kashyyyk… it was you, wasn’t it?” he asked, but when she didn’t reply, he continued, “Fine, don’t answer me. But you and I both know it would’ve been easier if you’d let me die… twice now.”

“Not exactly,” she disagreed. “I need the holocron, remember?”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe that’s the reason.”

“Well, it is,” she insisted.

“No,” he shot, “it’s not.”

Trilla stared at him. “And I might question why you’re so interested in knowing the answer, but it’s best I don’t, isn’t it?” she suggested. She glanced down at the rest of his body before meeting his eyes again. “You’re going to freeze to death here if you don’t start moving, Kestis. I’d advise you not to continue this pointless conversation.”

It was true. He was shivering beyond belief, and his teeth chattered against the cold air. But he paid no mind to her words—he was far more concerned with whatever was going on between them. 

“As hard as it may be to believe, Padawan,” she continued, stepping closer to him, “I have no interest in watching you die.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “That is hard to believe.”

She narrowed her eyes and took another step toward him. “You don’t believe me,” she observed. 

“Can you blame me?” he asked. “You’ve never given me any reason to believe anything you say.”

“Why would I be interested in watching you die?”

Cal scoffed in disbelief. “Isn’t that your job?” 

Her face was troubled. For a moment, it was as if she’d forgotten her position entirely. She didn’t acknowledge his words and, instead, said, “Something happened where you were… I felt it.”

Images flashed across his vision, memories of what he’d seen on Dathomir. _Traitor._ He closed his eyes. How could she have any idea about what he’d endured? He had been able to catch glimpses of her thoughts and feelings, but was it possible that he could see more… as she had? 

When he opened his eyes, her gaze was warm and she had taken a step closer to him. “I lost everything once, too,” she continued. “I know the pain of it… the anguish… I know what it’s like.”

Cal was nearly breathless at the vulnerability in her words. Why was she doing this? They were enemies; enemies shouldn’t offer understanding this way, and yet, he had to resist the desire to let it in. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, but the words came out softer than he wanted them to. 

“You’d be surprised.” 

_Don’t do this,_ Cal wanted to say. He didn’t want to feel any more for her than he should. He didn’t want them to cross a line they shouldn’t. He knew it wouldn’t end well for either of them; the galaxy they lived in now had no place for them to work. But the truth in her words tugged at him. He felt the ache behind them. 

Before he could stop her, she reached a hand out and placed it over his cheek. Her hand was warm against his skin, and the touch of her skin against his -- utterly _physical_ and _real_ \-- made him gasp. Something split open between them, reaching out to meet the other, familiar and buzzing with life. 

“I am ruined by you, Cal Kestis,” she whispered. “Everytime I look at you, I see all the terrible pain I could’ve been saved from by the Empire… I see all the ways my Master could have succeeded in helping me… I see everything the Force didn’t deem me worthy of…”

Cal hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until he opened them to see Trilla’s eyes, full of warmth, memorizing his features. Her thumb caressed the skin along his jaw, and he was jolted by how his heart warmed. Her words and gentle touch washed over him, bringing down his wall of resistance with it. There was an honesty in her gaze that he didn’t want to lose just yet; he could already feel the wall closing between them again as her gaze faltered. His hand closed gently around her wrist, and whispers of memories rose to meet his touch. “It’s not too late,” he whispered, taking the smallest step toward her. 

_What are you doing?_ Cal asked himself.

He ignored it. 

Trilla closed her eyes briefly. “I’ve been on this path long enough,” she said. “I don’t think there’s much of anything that could tear me away from it, not after everything.”

“Trilla,” he said softly. “It’s tearing you apart.”

Her eyes met his. “I’ve suffered worse,” she said. “It’s a shame, Kestis… perhaps in another life, we could have worked.”

He paused, weighing her words in his mind, and shook his head. He dropped his hand. _Please don’t do this_ , he wanted to say, _please don’t do this to yourself, please don’t do this to_ me. The words died in his throat. He turned his head away from her touch and stepped away. Her hand grazed the air for a moment, as if she’d missed his touch, but she dropped her hand.

He blinked at her and shook his head. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Her gaze was solemn. “None of your concern, Kestis,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” he replied, his tone quickly losing its softness. 

She turned her gaze away from him. “Not when this ends up with one of us dead,” Trilla insisted. “It’s not worth it. We might as well do what we have to.”

“You’re still going to fight me, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she responded honestly. “I’ll do what I have to do and so will you.”

Cal took a breath. “And if I refuse?”

Her eyes met his. “Then you’ll _die_.” 

They were silent for a moment. He couldn’t help the frustration that rose within him, the same that he’d felt so vividly on Dathomir when he’d spoken to her. Something was bringing them together, forcing them to interact, allowing them to _touch_ , and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

“Why?” he asked, suddenly exasperated. “Why are you telling me this? Why are you doing this? What’s the point if…?”

“If what?” she snapped.

“If you’re not even going to let me help you?”

Her expression changed. “I don’t need your help,” she snapped. “I don’t _want_ your help.”

He blinked at how quickly things between them had changed. “Then why don’t you help yourself, and stop lying about what you want?” he shot. “I _know_ this isn’t what you want--”

She advanced on him. “Don’t pretend to know anything about me because you don’t!” she exclaimed, her breath shaky. “You know nothing. _Nothing._ ”

His eyes searched hers, and he tried not to notice the pain that was prevalent in them. “Then tell me what I don’t know,” he challenged.

“ _No,_ ” she said. 

He stared at her. And there it was, that anger rising within him as soon as they’d crossed into new territory. He _hated_ this — this connection that would do nothing for either of them, this stringing along of what he felt and what he knew he couldn’t have. _Trust only in the Force_ , Master Tapal had said, but why was it being so cruel to him? To both of them? 

“I thought you were a monster,” he said, “but you’re just a _coward_.”

Cal wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from Trilla after the words left his mouth, but it wasn't the silence that followed them. Nor the surprise and softness that fell over her gaze. She stared at him for a moment, and he nearly held his breath.

“Do you hate me?” she whispered.

He faltered at the candor in the question. “ _What?_ ”

“Do you hate me?” she repeated. 

He blinked. Her words tumbled in his mind, heavy with meaning, and it pained him to hear her ask such a thing. His reasoning bit back against his honesty, but he allowed the words to go free anyway. The words that slipped past his lips were the most true of them all. “I wish I did,” he breathed. 

_At least if I hated you I wouldn’t feel the way I did right now,_ he thought. _At least if I hated you I wouldn’t want to kiss you. At least I wouldn’t want to whisper into your mouth to let me help you._

_At least I wouldn’t be betraying everything I ever stood for._

No, Cal didn’t hate her, but he hated the effect she had on him. He hated the way she always brought out a reaction in him, whether it was anger or want or sympathy, because he knew they all danced along the dangerous line he could never cross with her. He hated the way she left his skin burning on Dathomir, and even here, in a cold cave on Ilum where both of their histories intertwined. He hated that he wanted to take her hand, to press his lips against hers, to feel the pressure between them give way to consumption. But most of all, Cal hated that he didn’t hate her.

And he hated that he was sure he never could. 

There was a pained expression on Trilla’s face. For the first time, Cal felt like he was seeing her. There was no menace in her eyes — only desperation and regret. And from the connection they’d stumbled across, there was an aggravation with him beneath the surface, a feeling just as prominent within himself for her. It became clear to him, then, that what truly lay between them ran deeper than desire. 

It terrified him. 

Cal wasn’t sure whether she was going to kiss him or shut him out entirely. He found himself hoping she would take such a risk and do something as foolish as kissing him. She’d touched him already; what more would a kiss do? Maybe they should throw it all away if neither of them were going to budge. At least if they did the burning underneath his skin would finally stop. He hated that he considered such a thought. 

_Don’t tell me the truth then,_ Cal wanted to offer. _Show me it. Show me how you feel._

Force, he sounded like her. 

Cal was on the verge of asking her if she was going to say anything when he felt their connection slipping. He reached out a hand before he could stop himself, but the bond slipped between his fingers helplessly. And then, Trilla was gone. 

+

 _Failure is not the end,_ Eno Cordova had said. _It is a necessary part of the path. Hope will always survive in those who continue to fight._

BD-1 had risked everything for Cal and, in the process, gave him a semblance of hope. He thought about the boy he’d once been, alone and hiding on Bracca, unsure of what journey the future held for him. And BD-1’s words: _I believe in you._

Cal might as well start believing in himself, too. 

_There's still a chance. There's always a chance._

He only hoped Trilla would come to believe the same thing. He didn’t want to see her destroy herself any further when they both knew it was doing nothing for her. Surely, she must know that… but he hated that it wouldn’t be so simple to allow her to see it. 

_You shouldn’t even care_ , he told himself. And he knew he shouldn’t. But it didn’t change that he did. 

The Empire had gotten a mere glimpse of him, and they’d sent everything they had after him. He supposed that, for once, they had rather good timing. He wondered if Trilla would be on their tail and arrive to fight him herself.

He hoped not. 

Everything in his journey seemed to slide into place, except Trilla. It was no secret that the Force had been connecting them for a reason, and their journeys were intertwined somehow. They had been for a long time.

He tried not to think about that. Or the fact that he’d thought about kissing her in the caves. Or that he’d realized that he didn’t hate her like he wanted to, like he _should_. Or, even worse, that he felt these things in spite of who he was. Being a Jedi didn’t change any of that, infuriatingly enough. 

Cal allowed his thoughts to get drowned away as his opponents advanced on him. The broken kyber crystal in his lightsaber seemed so alike to himself: torn, but not shattered. A crystal gleaming in hope. He was all too-aware of the hopeful pulse of the crystal beneath his hand. He got lost in the adrenaline coursing through him, at the pull of the Force around him, and allowed it to guide him. There seemed to be more troops running in to meet him with every defeated enemy, but there was no hint of doubt lingering inside him against them. 

The confidence didn’t last as long as he’d hoped. 

In the middle of battle, something dark settled over him. It crawled in quietly, a silent killer, and then, all at once, it fell over him violently. It was fury, affliction, and torment, yet so much worse. It shuddered through him with no mercy, and he gasped and fell to his knee. A wave of revulsion came with it. 

Cal thought about what Trilla said: _Something happened where you were... I felt it._ Was this what she meant?

He found himself whispering her name, like a hushed prayer for salvation, and it took everything inside of him to continue fighting. He couldn’t decipher whether the fear and despair that coursed through him had come from him or her, whether it was a hidden feeling that she’d brought forth or something else entirely. But one thing was clear: 

Trilla was in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a wonderful manip that was made for this chapter based on Cal and Trilla's conversation that you can find [here.](https://twitter.com/acosmiclove/status/1326953800930787329?s=20) Again, go support her on [twitter](https://twitter.com/acosmiclove) and [ao3!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acosmiclove)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! Being over halfway through this story already is so so so surreal after it’s been bouncing around my head for the last few months. My finals are coming up soon so my schedule will be pretty hectic in the coming weeks, but I’ll be doing my best to get another update out soon. Besides that, thank you for the love this story keeps getting! I really hope you all love the story I tell with Cal and Trilla and the whole crew 🥺
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter contains scenes that may be disturbing to some readers, including instances of gore, blood and injury, emotional distress, implied dissociation, and vomiting. Please proceed with caution.

**“** _For one, for all, I’ll do what I have to do,_

 _You can’t understand, it’s all part of the plan._ **”**

**Ontotho, 14 BBY**

She’d let Kestis get away, and then, she’d saved his life. She really was losing her grip. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there in silence, his words still ringing in her ears: _I wish I did._

She didn’t know why she had cared so much about what he thought or why she allowed herself to be so unguarded with him. It was witless to be honest with herself about what she felt for him, but it was even worse that she’d acknowledged it in his presence. _Perhaps in another life we could have worked_ , she’d said.

It was his doing. She had been ready to push her feelings aside, but seeing his life in danger had thrown her off balance. And seeing the look in his eyes afterward had undone her entirely. 

_You’re mindless,_ she told herself.

 _Maybe,_ she thought in response, _but so is he._

Kestis was careless himself. It was one thing for her to act the way she did, and it was another for him to respond. And he had. He always did. 

She glanced down at her hand that had touched his skin. Why had she done that and why had she been so honest? She resented that she wanted to touch him again, to see his expression morphing with every graze of her skin against his. To feel every inkling of betrayal in his mind, in his body, if she’d just leaned forward and took his mouth into hers. She closed her hand into a fist. 

Trilla had heard a report through her comm. She couldn’t contain her disappointment that he’d been spotted on Ilum, and she was on Ontotho instead. She wanted to see him again. She wanted to experience the way they danced around what they truly felt. It was invigorating to sense it so heavy in the air, but she couldn’t help but feel that they were careening over an edge they were bound to fall over. She’d been foolish from the beginning, hadn’t she? 

But Kestis cared about her, that was clear by the way he’d spoken to her, which meant he was just as much of a fool as she was. And this wouldn’t end in their favor. They were enemies on opposite sides of war — and yet, they didn’t seem to be able to truly grasp that. 

Something caught her eye at the end of the shelf, the object that had demanded her attention before Kestis interrupted, and Trilla turned her gaze toward it. It was a small doll — a blank, plush figure with Jedi robes and a lightsaber — but it was unmistakable. She took a step back, her insides running cold, at the sight. It should have made her angry, but the only thing that forced its way into her veins was fear. She needed to get off this planet _now_.

At the entrance of the hut, she heard yelling and Seventh Sister’s call of alarm.

Trilla hesitated. She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but she took hold of the doll and stuffed it into her back pocket. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was a coincidence. Surely, countless other Jedi Padawans had held such comforts close.

 _Surely,_ she assured herself, but a part of her refused to believe it.

Seventh Sister called after her presence again, and this time, Trilla was there to meet her. The hilt of her lightsaber was already in her hand. A figure was running in the distance, and Seventh was standing as if she wasn’t an Inquisitor herself. “What are you doing?!” Trilla snapped.

“Go on,” Seventh Sister said. “This one’s yours.” 

Trilla growled in annoyance and chased after the silhouette. Seventh Sister was fortunate that there was no terrain in their way of the Jedi besides some stubborn fog. If there had been more, and if she’d willingly acted like that, she wouldn’t hesitate to blame a Jedi slipping from their grip on the Inquisitor. 

Maybe then the Grand Inquisitor and the rest of the Inquisitorius would get off her back. 

Trilla could make out a small figure, and they were agile by the pace they set her on to catch up. She could use the Force, make it quicker and easier, but the appeal of a challenge would be lost with it. She pressed forward, ignoring the burn in her thighs and the protest in her lungs, and the exhilaration of an imminent fight coursed through her. When she managed to get close enough, she ignited her saber and held her breath as she flung it into the air. It whirled past the figure, and on its way back to her, it snagged a charred mark on the Jedi’s shoulder. _Got you,_ she thought in satisfaction as the hilt of her weapon slammed back into her hand. 

The Jedi yelped in surprise, stopping short to clutch at their wound, and turned on her. A blue blade was ignited in their hands in seconds. She couldn’t make out any distinguishable features of the Jedi past the mask that hung over their face. But the anatomy of their hands, the two antennae peeking from the top of their head, and the green tone of their skin said it all. She was dealing with a Rodian. 

Trilla stopped to face them. “You have nowhere to go,” she called.

Still, the Jedi stood upright in defiance, ready for a strike. 

It reminded her of Kestis. 

For a moment, they only stared at each other. “Scared, Jedi?” she taunted. “You should be.”

Trilla was taken aback by the hesitance and the way their blade faltered. Her brows furrowed. The stance the Jedi took rung like surrender. Jedi weren't usually ones to surrender. _Not so much like Kestis then_ , Trilla thought in disappointment. 

To her immediate surprise, the Jedi lunged and Trilla stumbled back from the sudden change of heart. Trilla swung her saber, hard, searching for a brutal hit in return for the surprise attack. The Jedi flung back and dodged away from her strike. They attacked in response, and their blades clashed against each other. She peered into the Jedi’s face, attempting to get any semblance of an identity from it, but there was nothing. They recoiled back from her gaze, their blade with it, and swung again. 

There was a resistance to their fight that irritated her. She attacked harder and harder. She expected the Jedi to fight back with equal force, but they only seemed to weaken. She clenched her jaw and continued, forcing the Jedi back with every strike. _Fight back!_ she wanted to scream. 

The Jedi’s awareness seemed to blur with the rest of their movements. They left clear openings that begged for the vicious cut of Trilla’s lightsaber. She tried to ignore it and salvage what she could of a challenge, but it was hopeless. After too many agonizing openings, she finally took her chance. She parried a weak attack from her opponent and, with one swift movement, jabbed her saber into the Jedi’s side. Enough to wound, to throw them off balance, to _hurt_ , but not to kill. 

The Jedi yelped and fell to the ground, clutching the wound at her side. Their lightsaber deactivated and clattered along the ground. She advanced on the figure as they crawled away from her. She heard words muffled beneath their mask, probably begging for mercy she couldn’t afford to give, and they leaned back against a rock. At least the mask clouding their features would make the kill easier -- she wouldn’t have to see the light in their eyes dim and flicker out. Trilla held her weapon ready for a final strike, losing herself in the motions, but then, the Jedi tore their mask off. 

Trilla’s anger dissipated, replaced with shock, and she sucked in a breath. She stopped short. Her insides ran cold at the sight of the face beneath. The same face she’d cradled in her hands all those years ago. The same fearful eyes she’d tried to reassure in the face of hopelessness. The same person she’d trained with and grown fond of as a fellow Padawan… 

“Trilla! Trilla, it’s me!” the Jedi yelled. “It’s me.” 

_Sahar._

Her _voice_. Her voice still had that childlike element she had grown so used to hearing in her younger years. The same voice she’d heard shaky with fear when she asked Trilla what was going to happen when the Empire searched for them. 

Trilla lowered her weapon. “ _Sahar?_ ” she breathed.

Sahar blinked at her, at her uniform, at her blade, and Trilla realized what she looked like. _Who_ she was. Under Sahar’s troubled gaze, Trilla wanted to step out of her skin and go back to being that comforting Padawan she had once been to the youngling.

The train of thought was startling.

“Trilla?” she asked. “What… what happened to you?” 

The question made anger rush through her, and a strange kind of sadness, too. She knew who she was more than anyone, but she knew just what it had taken to get there. It had taken _everything_. The purpose of the mission slid into focus then, and she suddenly felt sick. She knew what she had to do, and she knew what this would cost. It would take everything in her or it would take her life, but both somehow seemed to carry the same fate. 

She could only stare at Sahar on the ground. Her hand was splayed across the wound at her side, visibly in pain, with her back pressed against the rock behind her. She looked so different since she’d last seen her… 

In that godforsaken cave when Cere had abandoned them.

Trilla’s chest tightened, and she couldn’t breathe. She had left that cave, left Sahar, as a friend only to return as a foe. She remembered every detail about that fateful day. She could still hear the shake in Sahar’s voice after Cere had run out of the cave, the way she’d held Sahar as they accepted their fates, the way she’d attempted to pull herself together and be strong for the youngling. And then, ultimately, the decision she made to save Sahar from the torment to come, the last true decision she’d been able to make as herself. A selfless sacrifice for the love of another -- a person, a friend, a _sister_.

And here she stood, years later, with a blade in her hand and darkness overrun in her heart. No longer the brave, innocent Jedi of her youth. Only a monster in her place.

Suddenly, she wished she was on the other side of her blade.

She knew she deserved such a fate more than Sahar ever would.

Seventh Sister had caught up to them. The Inquisitor’s presence seemed to burn through her very being, infiltrating her entirely and suffocating every word she wanted to say. _What are you doing here?_ she wanted to ask. _Where have you been all this time? I thought you were dead!_ The words died in her throat. 

Her grip on her weapon tightened, and Sahar noticed. “You’re going to kill me like a coward?” she asked. “Because that’s what you’ve become, isn’t it? A killer?” 

_Yes,_ she wanted to say and get this over with, but her hand didn’t move and her throat felt constrained by emotion she didn’t want. 

Trilla wanted to scream. _You should have been more careful. You should have stayed away. You should have fought harder._ You should, you should, you should. All another reason for Trilla not to have to kill her, this person she once considered family.

Sahar’s gaze followed to her opposite hand. “You found it?” Trilla looked down at her hand where she held the doll from the hut. She hadn’t even realized she’d taken it out. “You remember when you gave that to me?”

Trilla pushed away the memories that rose in her mind, and it left her chest tightening even further. She tossed the doll to the ground beside Sahar, a clear taunt she didn’t want to give. She could see the hurt in Sahar’s eyes. “Back when I was weak,” Trilla forced out, “like you.”

Sahar’s eyes glistened. “You sacrificed yourself for me--!”

“And look where that got me!” Trilla yelled back angrily, but her eyes prickled. She laughed bitterly. “A fool’s mistake put me _exactly_ where I needed to be.”

Sahar stared at her, and the distraught and sorrow on her face was clear. Trilla couldn’t blame her. She was worlds beyond the girl Sahar had once known — that weak, gullible girl. That blind trust and faith had cost her. It wouldn’t do the same thing again. She would be sure of it, even if it killed her in a way that was worse than any physical pain or torment she could ever endure. 

But maybe it would show her something else, a sense of clarity for who she was always meant to be. The Grand Inquisitor’s words about the past rang in her mind: _We must kill it to become who we were meant to be. It is the only path forward._ Isn’t that what she wanted? A way to finally be able to let go of the past that haunted her, to let herself be drowned entirely by the pain and anguish of it until there was no lingering light? A path to freedom and glory?

She thought about Kestis. And Sahar, helpless before her. Her past was making her weak, that was clear enough...

Perhaps the Grand Inquisitor had a point. Or maybe she’d allowed him to get into her head and plant a false idea, but that was a thought she couldn’t allow herself to think twice about. She knew where she stood, and she knew what she had to do.

The rest didn’t matter.

“You can’t kill me,” Sahar breathed. 

Trilla’s gaze hardened. “Can’t I?”

Sahar flinched, and she wanted to take back the words. 

“Come on, now, Second Sister,” Seventh Sister drawled behind her. “Don’t play with your food.”

Trilla had turned her head slightly at the Inquisitor’s words, and she turned her gaze to Sahar’s. _Remember who you are,_ Seventh Sister had seemed to say. _Remember where you stand._

Sahar’s eyes were pleading, and it nearly broke her in two. “Trilla, please,” she pleaded. “I’m your friend.”

Trilla gripped her weapon, and her lightsaber felt like it held the weight of the world in her grip. “No,” she objected through the lump in her throat, “you’re not.”

She raised her weapon.

“You’re my sister!” Sahar said. “I love you.”

Trilla froze. _You’re my sister,_ she’d said to the youngling once. _I love you, and Force willing, I’ll be back._ The ache in her chest spread, but she held firm against it. She pushed the thoughts away.

“That died with the rest of me,” she choked out. “And it will die with you.”

Sahar shrieked helplessly as Trilla swung her saber down harshly. Something inside her seemed to crack open with the strike. But then, there was a terrible, choked sound of Sahar taking in a desperate breath. She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes until they shot open at the sound, and Trilla took in the sight of Sahar in horror. Her body was ravaged from the swing, and the agonizing pain of what she’d done was prevalent in the gasps she took in for air. “Trilla…” she gasped out, “please…”

This time, Trilla screamed as she brought her weapon down. She rose it again and again, slicing through every shred of her humanity with Sahar’s torn body. And Trilla felt it then, that cracked piece she’d carried inside of her since she’d been made an Inquisitor broke open, an onslaught of emotion far worse than any pain she’d endured in the torture chamber.

No, the torture -- being sliced open, mutilated, electrocuted until something in you gave -- was merciful compared to this terror. And she knew she’d take it again, for eons, for eternity, if it meant never doing this to Sahar. Let her suffer to save Sahar, the galaxy knew she deserved it.

But it was too late. 

And she didn’t stop screaming.

Trilla didn’t know how much time had passed when she returned to herself. She stared down at Sahar’s body, the scent of charred flesh heavy in the air, and her stomach turned violently. She felt everything and nothing at all, and she wasn’t sure how that could be. She felt frozen in place, her weapon humming in her hand like an insult. She took a shaky breath, but the air felt so thick around her that it felt nearly impossible, and she blinked. Sahar’s body flashed beneath her closed eyelids. 

Her eyes found the plush doll she’d tossed carelessly in front of Sahar. _It’s okay, it’s okay,_ she’d assured her all those years ago. And now, the life she’d given everything to protect had been hers to take. Trilla shut her eyes, and darkness greeted her no more. There was only Sahar’s broken form, blank eyes staring into nothingness. She felt sick.

Seventh Sister regarded the seared form. “That was rather dramatic,” she commented. Her eyes shifted towards her. “Do you think you got her?”

Trilla didn’t have the energy to fire a retort back, let alone say anything at all, but she found words. She turned on Seventh Sister. “You knew,” she breathed. “You _knew_.”

The Inquisitor smiled. “Of course I did,” Seventh Sister said. “Why do you think you got tasked on this mission?”

Trilla let out a trembling breath.

“You should be happy,” Seventh Sister continued. “The Empire tested you, and you passed. What better way to prove your allegiance than by killing another part of your past?” 

Seventh Sister brushed past her. Trilla turned slowly around and gripped her weapon. She should kill the Inquisitor… She gripped her saber in her hand, her breath ragged, and positioned for a strike. The Inquisitor didn’t deserve such a quick death, but Trilla supposed it didn’t matter if her existence would be blotted away forever. The Empire had taken from her, and she would take just as much. 

Reason slammed into her. 

The Grand Inquisitor would be watching her, and if he saw her return alone, he’d kill her himself. She could escape to another planet, but she was sure if the Empire was suspicious of her, they’d already be tracking her movements. And Seventh Sister’s. 

_No_ , Trilla thought, defeated, _I don’t have a choice._

She turned back to Sahar’s body. She clawed at thoughts and feelings that wouldn’t come. She felt miles away from where she was, from who she was. The weapon in her hand seemed foreign. And, with a start, she realized that everything else -- the weight of her body, her limbs, her thoughts -- felt alien, too. 

The old, forgotten voice from so long ago returned: _This is not who you are._

And, for the first time, Trilla felt her angry response replaced by an unusual sadness.

Trilla, lost in an odd daze, turned her back on Sahar’s body and followed Seventh Sister. The farther she stepped away from what she’d done, the more it started to settle within her. And when they long since abandoned the planet and the forgotten body of a Jedi, the plush doll remained silently, a light contrasting with the terror of what lay beside it. 

+

The Fortress Inquisitorius looked bizarre when she returned. The lighting didn’t seem right, nor did any of the interior. It was both familiar and peculiar at the same time, as if she’d walked into a dream. 

When she stepped into her quarters, Trilla seemed to snap back into herself at the sound of the door shutting behind her. The image of Sahar’s body rose to the surface of her mind, showcasing the charred lines where her weapon had made its marks. Sahar’s empty, blank eyes burned in her mind. She raced into the refresher and emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet, retching like a sick animal. She gripped the edges of it so harshly she was sure it would somehow shatter in her grip.

Immediately, she erased every inkling of her weak response. It made her feel like a child, like how she’d felt after she’d been molded so viciously into an Inquisitor. But she still purged the sickness from the refresher and from her mouth, even when the neutral taste of the handful of Empire’s washes that she’d taken started to burn her tongue. 

The sickness subsided as quickly as it had come, and a fury unlike she’d ever known filled her. This was an anomalous anger, one that had steeped inside her for what felt like a lifetime, and it had been given the means to reveal itself. It left her chest burning so profusely that she was sure a fire had ignited in her very heart, scorching away whatever good was left.

She had sealed her fate. There was no hope for her anymore, no redemption. Only death and destruction. 

Both the Jedi and the Empire had made her this. Trilla thought she had known betrayal like the back of her hand because of Cere, because of what she’d done. But she hadn’t known betrayal, not truly, until this day when the Empire showed her it was just as malicious as everyone else. 

The Jedi had lied to her, and so had the Empire.

Who was there left to trust?

She felt her connection with Kestis opening again. She clenched her hands into fists and shut her eyes. The anger seemed to burn brighter inside of her. She didn’t want to do this, and she certainly didn’t want to be faced with the Jedi when she felt this way, let alone what she felt lingering beneath the anger. She was sick and tired of caring about her position and her job and everything else it entailed after what the Empire made her do. 

She remembered his words: _I thought you were a monster, but you’re just a coward_. How wrong he was. She was no coward — she was the most terrifying of monsters that could be imagined, and she deserved nothing but the horror and atrocities she had put countless innocent lives through.

Her uniform suddenly felt constricting at the thought of seeing him again, and she tore it off her skin as if it burned. She nearly ripped her cape as she yanked it off her uniform, shrieking in annoyance as she flung it across the room. She tugged off her boots, flinging them both in opposite directions and not caring what they damaged on their descent to the ground. The armor on her shoulders came next, and she kicked them angrily across her chambers. She unbuckled the belt that held the top of her uniform in place and she tore her top off mercilessly, leaving herself in her thin undershirt and uniform trousers. The belt rattled against the wall as she tossed it with the shirt -- it was loud, but she didn’t care. 

Her breath shook. She braced her hands against the edge of her desk, trying to catch her breath, but when she opened her eyes, her mask was there to greet her. She didn’t think twice as she took hold of it and slammed it against the wall. She brought it back and slammed it back with force, denting the wall and the mask, but she did it again and again. Even when the mask had broken beyond repair underneath her force. Even when the shards of broken metal cut into her skin. 

She didn’t stop until there was barely a shell of a mask left behind. Her hand stung, prickles of pain shooting up her arm. When she glanced down, her hand was in grotesque shape. She pulled her hand away from the wall and let the final remnants of the mask fall to the ground with a clatter. Her hand trembled, blood spilling from the deep cuts where shards had bitten into her skin. She took a breath and pulled her hand into a fist, gritting her teeth as the cut skin stretched underneath the pressure. 

She yanked shards of her mask out of her hand and bandaged it carelessly. She didn’t bother with bacta or anything to help the stinging pain. It provided an edge to everything she felt.

And still, that vicious anger remained. 

Kestis’ presence pressed closer.

She wanted to feel like she could breathe again, wanted to feel _something,_ and desperately, she didn’t want to think. Maybe she wouldn’t think. Maybe she’d throw all self-restraint to the wind. Maybe she would do something she’d regret. 

She found she didn’t care, not anymore. 

She hoped he didn’t either. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! Thank you again for all the love and support. This story is so special to me and I’m so excited to see it through, and I’m so happy others are enjoying it as much as I’m loving writing it. It means the world and so much more. I’ll be doing my best to get another update out soon, but until then, enjoy! 🥺💗

**“** Lover _, hunter, friend, and enemy,  
__You will always be every one of these._ **”**

**Ilum, 14 BBY**

When Cal returned to the Mantis, his insides ran cold at the sight of Cere. The memory of his encounter with Trilla had taken hold on him, and it didn’t seem like it would let him go anytime soon. He could still feel the warm press of Trilla’s hand against his skin, the ache inside him to press his lips against hers, and hating himself for it. He felt like a fraud. What Jedi would be seduced by the person they were meant to defeat? 

_What dark side apprentice would be seduced by a Jedi?_ he asked himself in response. 

Cere smiled proudly at him. “You did it.”

Cal blinked in surprise. Why had he been expecting a different response? It was strange, he thought, for Cere not to be aware of what was happening with Trilla as clearly as he was. 

“ _We_ did,” he corrected. “I wouldn’t be here without all of you. I used to sit on Bracca dreaming about storming Coruscant with survivors from the Jedi Council. Instead, the Order’s hopes rest on a gambler, a fallen Jedi, and a failed Padawan. A bunch of screw-ups.”

He thought of Trilla. _A former Inquisitor on the Mantis?_ What would that be like? 

“You can say that again,” Greez said.

“BD’s the only reliable one. He let Cordova wipe his memories so he could stay behind and guide us. But you’re both willing to sacrifice everything to keep going when it seems impossible.”

“Failure is a part of the journey,” Cere said.

“I get that now,” Cal said.

_I just don’t understand Trilla._

“Thank you,” he said. “All of you.”

His mind trailed away to Trilla, but he pushed it away. _Focus_. “Let’s get out of here before the Empire sends anyone else after us.”

“Dathomir?” Cere asked. 

Cal weighed his options. “No, let’s lay low for the night,” he said. “We’ll head to Dathomir tomorrow.”

“I’ll keep us hidden off-world,” Greez said. 

“Sounds good.”

BD-1 jumped off his back and perched itself on the holotable. It looked up at him with curious eyes. “Nothing happened,” Cal replied to the gaze.

_Beep boop._

“Can you not use that tone with me?” he whispered frantically. “I know how it looks, and I’m telling you, there’s nothing going on.”

_Beeeeeeep._

Cal’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious!”

A hand settled over his shoulder. “Cal?” He turned to Cere, and his heart dropped. “You got a moment?” BD-1 trilled rebelliously behind him. “What did it say?” Cere asked.

Cal blocked Cere’s view of BD-1, and the droid poked at his back in disapproval. He ignored it. “Nothing,” he replied. “Yes?”

“On Ilum… on the comms… thank you for being honest with me. It’s been hard since the Purge…” she said. “You’ve been the first spark of hope I’ve had in a long time.”

Guilt turned over in his stomach. He had been upset at her for being dishonest with him, and here he was, doing the same thing. But he wouldn’t risk telling her of his connection with Trilla… not yet.

He forced a smile. “Of course, Cere.”

“Get some rest for tomorrow, okay?” she said. “You’ll need it.”

Cere gave him a small smile and stepped away. She turned toward him. “Oh, and check on your droid.” She walked into the cockpit. He watched as she took a seat and ran through her routine checks for the night. “I think there’s something wrong with it.”

Cal glanced down at BD-1, who looked back up at him innocently, before looking back at Cere. “Why’s that?”

She shrugged. “Said some nonsense about you having a crush on Trilla.”

“It said _what_?” Cal asked, glaring at BD-1.

Cere chuckled. “I know,” she called from the cockpit. “Make sure it’s not malfunctioning.”

“BD!” Cal whispered. 

_Beep boop._

“Why would you say that?!” he questioned. “To Cere, of all people?”

_Beeeeeeep!_

“I’m not ly— Force, it’s not even worth it. Listen, I know what you’re saying, but it’s not like that!” He sighed. “Please, just don’t bring it up.”

_Boop._

“Thank you.” 

Cal turned to get ready for the night. 

_Beep boop boop._

Cal stopped short, sighed, and turned back to the little droid. “Fine, one night,” he agreed. “I’ll take it. You can keep annoying me tomorrow—”

BD-1 warbled in excitement. 

“—as long as you keep it between us.”

A flat trill. 

“Deal’s a deal, buddy.”

A beep of agreement.

Cal cracked a smile. “Thank you.”

Night had fallen over Ilum by the time they retreated off-world. Greez assured them they were safely pocketed between asteroids, and the Empire wouldn’t be able to locate anything besides debris. BD-1 stayed at the front of the ship to monitor if anything went south as the crew disappeared into their quarters. 

Once alone, Cal’s thoughts scrambled back to Trilla and his heart hammered in his chest. He forced air into his lungs, in and out, to try to be rid of the pit in his stomach. But it remained, a constant telltale of his connection with Trilla. 

Cal took to taking apart his lightsaber, then putting it back together, again and again in an attempt to settle his nerves. He had left the ship earlier in the day for clarity, and he had somehow returned even more prisoner to his feelings and thoughts. Except, now, the feelings and thoughts were entirely different. 

Something terrible had happened to Trilla, and he had been left in the dark. He wondered if she’d felt this same gut-wrenching worry for him when she’d sensed what happened on Dathomir. And if she had, he couldn’t rationalize how she’d been able to hold up a facade of annoyance with him upon seeing him again. He was sure he was going to do or say something stupid if he saw her again. _When_ he saw her again, he corrected. As much as Cal hadn’t wanted to admit it, he was sure that if something fatal had happened to her, he would know. 

Cal disappeared into the refresher on the Mantis. He gripped the edge of the sink and stared down at it, his mind racing. He could still feel Trilla’s grip around his wrist, the press of her palm on his cheek, the way her breath fanned across his skin. _Do you hate me?_ He let out an irritated breath and turned on the water of the shower. 

He stripped off his clothes in a fit of annoyance, and stepped into the pouring water. He turned the temperature to near scalding. He scrubbed at his skin fervently, as if he could somehow wash away Trilla’s effect on him entirely, as if it could slip away quietly and run down the drain. He wished it were that simple.

But he stepped out of the refresher with his skin still burning, the gut-wrenching worry twisting in his stomach, and that clear, haunted image of her from the caves on Ilum.

A shudder prickled at his consciousness.

Cal wanted to hit something. He knew he should put his saber back together, but he was too vexed to even give it a second thought. He locked himself in his makeshift room on the ship, slipping into more comfortable sleepwear. It was relieving to be back in a simple shirt and shorts again, but it was short-lived. He knew what was coming. 

Trilla’s presence pressed close. 

Cal closed his eyes, fighting back the yell of annoyance threatening to slip past his lips, and he shut off the lights. He was torn between making sure she was okay and never wanting to see her again. He wished he could push back against whatever was bringing him and Trilla together, but when he tried, he couldn’t even place anything around him. In the fading light, he could see a silhouette shaped across the small amount of light teeming from the broken plates at the far end of the room from his peripheral vision. 

He refused to look at her. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, Kestis,” she replied, annoyance heavy in her tone. “I must say, I’m not much in the mood for conversation.”

Cal closed his eyes. He was relieved to hear her voice again, and he found himself grateful for the low sound to grace his ears again, even though she hadn’t been particularly kind. He had taken notice to the keen rim of her voice, but she was alive, seemingly unscathed. That was enough for him. And now, with the confirmation that she was fine, the frustration was even more prominent.

“You and I both,” he said into the darkness.

“I don’t think you quite understand what I mean.”

He let out a breath and opened his eyes. He still didn’t look in her direction. “I’m not eager to hear what you have to say.”

“I don’t think whatever this is cares much about that,” Trilla said.

“Yeah,” Cal agreed sarcastically, “no kidding.”

Silence filled the space around them, and Cal’s hands became fists at his side. The tension between them was pulsing, and he was growing sick of it. What he felt in the cave — want and warmth and sympathy — washed over him again violently. 

“Did you mean what you said?” she asked. “In the caves.” 

Cal saw her figure shifting from his peripheral vision as she took a step forward, and he felt far too aware of how close their bodies were. _Why do you care?_ he wanted to snap at her, but he was afraid of the answer he would get. He didn’t reply. 

“Look at me,” she demanded. 

Cal closed his eyes for a moment. He turned toward her and held back a breath of surprise at the sight of her. She wore a thin undershirt that left her arms, shoulders, and neck exposed. It was the most he’d ever seen of her skin, and it emphasized the form beneath her uniform even further, exposing the lean muscle at her arms, the curve of her breasts, the dip in her waist. Even in the darkened room, he could make out the scars on her skin — over her shoulder, across the column of her throat, another across her chest that peeked from beneath her shirt that he wondered just how far extended down— 

His cheeks heated at the observation and he forced his gaze away. His eyes took in her bandaged hand with incredulous eyes. Blood stained the gauze that was messily pulled over it. “You’re bleeding,” he breathed, concern rushing through him.

What the hell had happened since he’d last spoken to her?

“Look at _me_ ,” she snapped.

Cal forced his eyes toward her face, and even in the dim light, he could make out the sharp curves and features that seemed blessed by the galaxy. And something else — something serrated and broken that lingered in her gaze. He had known she was shattered by what the Empire had done to her, but this...

This was something else. 

He shook his head. “Trilla,” he gasped out.

She ignored the acknowledgment and the sympathy within it. “When I asked you if you hated me,” she continued, insistent. “Did you mean what you said?”

Another step, and he was nearly gasping. His skin seemed to buzz with the awareness of how close she stood, how easy it would be to reach out and touch her. “Yes,” he breathed out.

“Why’s that?” she asked.

It was hard to look at her this way: her skin bared without a care, the intensity in her gaze, and the blood that demanded his attention at her hand. His nails cut into his palms. What was she avoiding from telling him?

“Would you have preferred a different answer?” he shot. 

“A different answer would have been easier.”

“Easier?” he challenged. “Why?”

“You know why.” 

She was silent for a moment, and he could feel her eyes snaking across his skin. His body flooded with warmth underneath the touch of her eyes. He resented the reaction. But her words… the look in her eyes… What did she want? 

They were facing each other once again, and the cold sting of the ship’s air is nothing compared to the heat of her body. He could see the shape of her face in the darkness, and it nearly pained him to be so close to her again. “Would you rather I say it differently?” he asked. 

They were walking along a dangerous line, he knew, but he needed to know. This time, the word that leaves her lips leaves him feeling as if he were falling. “Yes.”

And then there was another question tumbling out his mouth, one he knew he shouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t deny himself. “And what exactly do you think is going to happen if I do?” 

“That’s up to you.” 

He blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Cal.”

Cal tore his eyes away from her. It was strange what the sound of his name on her lips did to him. _You know what I mean, Cal._ Did he? The tone of her voice seemed to shudder through him, from head to toe, and left his clothes feeling tight on his skin. His fists trembled slightly at his sides, his body involuntarily taken by a feeling only she seemed to be able to uncover within him.

He had never come across someone that made him feel this way consistently. That made him question what he wanted. That made him want to desert everything in the name of curiosity, in the name of something he couldn’t place. 

He forced his eyes back to her hand. “What happened where you were?”

Her eyes flashed. “Let’s stay on the subject at hand,” she suggested in warning. 

His eyes met hers. “Why?” he challenged. “Because what happened is ruining this fantasy of who you think you are—?”

She let out a warning sound. “Careful, Kestis.”

He was tired of this. Something had happened, and she was running away from it. That was exhausting enough, but she wasn’t only running — she was denying the truth of what she really wanted. He had seen it in the caves on Ilum, but it was even more prevalent here. Why wasn’t she allowing herself to see it? 

It frustrated him. The caves had been honest and transparent in ways he hadn’t anticipated, but she had turned from the truth. And here she was, doing it again. Cal knew pressing her wouldn’t help either of them, but his concern was so wrought out that it was strangling him. He cared in more ways than he should, and it was tangling itself in his irritation with her. He just wanted her to _see_. Why was that so difficult?

“No point in denying the truth, Trilla,” he said. “I see it.”

She leaned her head to one side. “See what, exactly?”

He stepped closer to her, and he perceived the quivering inhale she took in.“You’re running and it’s tearing you apart,” he accused. “I see right through you.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you, now?” 

He couldn’t stop the words now. “ _Yes_ ,” he pressed on. “But you’re so broken that you can’t even see it for yourself. But I can. I can see it for the both of us.”

“You don’t know anything,” she shot. 

“I see more than you give me credit for,” he observed. “The problem is that you don’t like that I see it.” 

She growled. “Don’t test me.”

His lips twitched up, almost amused at her words. “What’re you gonna do, hm?” he inquired. He was taken aback by the daring confidence in his voice, but he knew as well as she did that she wouldn’t hurt him, not _really_ — not after everything. 

He wanted her to see it just as plainly as he did. 

Perhaps then they could get a handle on what they felt. 

Cal could register the clear firestorm of indignation in her eyes as she gazed down at him. It was a caution he couldn’t care to take. “You’re gonna hurt me?” he continued. “Torture me? Kill me?” 

Trilla let out a low sound at the back of her throat, a final warning, but Cal didn’t relent. He leaned in close. “Go ahead, Trilla,” he provoked. “Do your _worst_.”

Her nose brushed over his. “You don’t want me to do that, little Jedi,” she said, her voice low. 

He scoffed lightly. “Try me.” 

So she did. 

Trilla reached out and took hold of a fistful of his hair at the back of his head. Her eyes were dangerous, merciless. Cal let out a small cry of pain as she pulled him against her and he had to grip her hips to keep himself from stumbling before her. She forced his gaze up to meet hers and he could barely move underneath her grip. He met her eyes with the same unwavering defiance. His nose flared, his breath shaky, and he waited to see what she was going to do. 

He hadn’t expected such an aggressive response. It startled him; it… intrigued him. How could she still manage to surprise him, after all this time? 

A strand of hair had fallen over her face in her determined state to hold him in such a vulnerable position. Her teeth were bared down at him, eyes on fire, and Cal swallowed. His throat was exposed entirely to her. She could kill him now, if she so desired. Two hands around his neck and she could purge him from her life. He almost encouraged it. 

He hung on her every breath, her every inch of movement, and he still chose bold disobedience. “Go ahead,” he breathed out. “Prove me wrong.” 

_Prove that I am nothing to you_ , he bit back. 

Trilla let out an exasperated breath, and for a fleeting moment, Cal was sure she was going to go through with it after all, but to his immediate surprise, she softened her grip on him. Her hand slipped to the nape of his neck, guiding him to meet her halfway as she pressed her lips over his. There was a surprised whimper that slipped from his mouth. There was no softness in her kiss, only blazing heat and vengeance that set his skin on fire. Trilla’s hand bunched his shirt into a fist at his back, and her other was nearly deathly around the nape of his neck. Cal grasped her shoulders and shoved her back. 

She tore away from him, regaining her balance easily from the force in his touch, panting. Cal didn’t realize he was gasping for breath, too. He could still feel the firm pressure of her lips against his. His hand grazed over his mouth. He stared at her, and Trilla stared back. What had just happened? 

“If you know what’s good for you, Jedi,” she said quietly, “you should just tell me to leave.”

Cal knew she would leave him be if he just said the word. And he could say it, a quick response that would prove he had the discipline for it after all. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not when she was looking at him the way she was. Not when he was barely a breath away from her touch, from the press of her lips. And definitely not when he felt like his skin had been doused in a flame only she could put out. 

_Prove me wrong_ , he’d taunted.

What an idiot he was. 

“I know,” he forced out, expectant. “But maybe I don’t know what’s good for me.”

Just as Cal made his decision and stepped forward to do exactly what he knew he shouldn’t, Trilla was there first. Her hand closed viciously around the collar of his shirt and she slammed him hard against the wall. He gasped as the breath was knocked out of him, but he made no objection when her lips crashed against his. A pleased sound escaped him at the touch of her mouth against his, and the honesty in the sound left him flushing. His hands fell lazily across her sides. Her hand found the curve of his neck, and her other clasped against the back of it to kiss him harder. 

_It was too easy,_ he thought, _too easy to get lost in desire like this, too easy to be completely undone by the kiss of something so utterly wrong._

_But it was too hard to resist something that felt so undeniably right._

This was unlike anything he’d ever done before. He had kissed someone once, on Bracca. It had been a fellow scrapper he worked alongside for months, and they had initiated such contact. It had been foreign at first, but as his hand had slid into their hair, he had known he enjoyed it and he had registered he wanted _more_. He’d sprung away then, gasping. The fire that had coursed through him then had terrified him enough to never do such a thing again.

He was a Jedi.

It was forbidden. 

But now, kissing Trilla, it was entirely different. Somehow, he felt he would die without it. That same fire he’d felt on Bracca once returned, shifting and moving within him without restraint, becoming an all-consuming burning, spreading from one heart and body to another until nothing else remained.

Heat flooded through him, and he was breathless beneath the press of her body against his. Trilla kissed as if to consume, as if every breath in her lungs relied on something only he could give her. It was no surprise that she kissed the same way she fought: passionately, aggressively, and eager to take. She fought with fervor, seeking answers and release with destruction, and this was no different. Perhaps this would destroy him, too. Perhaps this would be his ultimate undoing, his eternal regret, but when she pushed her tongue past the seam of his lips, all his thoughts were drowned away. 

Cal let out a sharp gasp against her open mouth, but Trilla didn’t allow for any semblance of a breath. She seemed eager to explore every inch of his lips, his mouth, and the sensuality in it left him nearly delirious. Her fingertips slipped into his hair and she took hold of a fistful, tugging until he whimpered against her lips. 

Trilla pushed further into his touch. Her touch seeped into his skin, traces of anger and want slipping into his awareness. It seemed to reach down into the very depths of him and uncover what he felt for her in return, taking hold of it and bringing it up to the surface. His chest burned with an aching flame, rippling across his body until it was all he felt. He leaned further into her, his hands sliding up her back, and responded to the hostility in her kiss with his own. 

“You’re so angry,” he observed, “for feeling this way.”

“You don’t know when to shut up,” she shot back. 

“What an apprentice you are,” he shot, “doing this with a _Jedi_.” 

“I’ll make you shut up, then.” He smiled doubtfully at her words. “Your bed, where is it?” He stumbled over words. “ _Now, Kestis_ ,” she demanded. 

He waved a hand in the direction of the bed, and he was struck that he’d completely forgotten where it was once she asked. “Here,” he breathed, “right here.”

Trilla moved back, taking him with her by the collar, and she pushed him back. He fell back onto his bed clumsily, and he scolded himself for his breathlessness as he watched her straddle his hips. He bit back a swear at the sight, at the _pressure_ , but he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. Even so, through the fading light, he could see her gratified smile. 

“Maybe we should talk about this,” Cal gasped out.

She raised a brow. “You want to talk about this?”

“Not really.”

“That’s what I thought,” she replied. “Neither do I.” 

When she pressed her lips against his again, all rationality slipped away from him. 

Her hands found their way underneath his shirt, grazing almost painfully along his abdomen. “Off,” she snarled, and he tugged off his shirt impatiently. Let her do whatever she pleased with him — he didn’t care anymore. Her eyes roamed over his torso with such delicacy that it was somehow even more unbearable than her touch. Her hands followed the path of her sight, and his breath hitched. “Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

Cal felt his cheeks heat at the words, and in an attempt to get her gaze away from his face, he tried to sit up to catch her lips in his again. Trilla pushed him back down with her hands firmly pressed against his chest, and he groaned in annoyance. He chewed at his lip, and he swore that the shift of her hips against his is entirely intentional. His hips canted up toward hers on pure instinct, driven by the need to relieve the building pressure in his groin, and he nearly whined at being denied the friction as she shifted her hips away. Embarrassment rushed through him at the involuntary response, at the desperation in it. 

She must recognize a flare of newfound need in the bond because she _smiled_ at him. “A little eager, are we?” 

He blushed furiously. “Stop talking,” he snapped. 

Trilla towered over him, and she reached a hand down between them. This time, he did swear, a low vulgar sound that slipped into the air with ease, and she smiled at him. “You were saying?” He was on the verge of snapping an insult at her when her hand slipped into his shorts. A moan escaped him at the sensation of her hand against him. “Say it,” she demanded, and he felt the light nudge of her bringing words to the surface of his mind.

“I hate you,” he said breathlessly. 

God, he wanted to wipe the smile off her face, but all he could do was flush like an idiot. She hummed in approval, leaning back and removing her hand, and he bit back a pathetic _please_. Her hands grazed at the hem of her shirt before pulling it off. His mind raced at what he saw. Trilla’s entire torso was exposed, but the first thing he noticed were the scars that were littered across it. He felt the shift in her thoughts as she realized that her skin is scarred, with the same lingering shame he knew so well, and he didn’t waste a second. He sat up, flushing her body against his, and closed his mouth against the ruined flesh at her shoulder. 

His thumb traced along a scar along her ribcage, underneath her breast, and he felt her shiver against him. A flare of pain seized through his own torso, glimpses of images flashing behind his vision, and Trilla sucked in a breath. She grasped his hands at once and forced them away from the scar. “ _No._ ”

“I’m sorry, I—”

 _“_ Shut up,” she snapped and pressed her lips against his. He listened. His kisses are frantic and tangled, never getting quite enough of what they search for. He’s lost in an inferno of anger and desire, torn between everything he shouldn’t do and everything he’s falling apart for. But all there is is Trilla in his arms, burning so hotly that his own feelings seem heightened from their connection. 

He pressed kisses along her jaw and neck, his hand firm against her back. “What would your Master say about this, hm? All that effort and training coming apart for an Inquisitor?” she teased. “How disappointing.”

“ _Be quiet_ ,” he hissed. 

Cal felt the light shudder of her laugh against him, and his annoyance multiplied. His hand gripped at her side and his psychometry leaned into the voice of her body. His cheeks heated at the response, but he listened. He pushed his hand into her trousers, and the hitch in her breath was enough to tell him he’d caught her by surprise; he smiled against her shoulder. What a betrayal it was, he thought, for her body to sing so beautifully underneath his touch and for her mouth to say another. He let the silent voice of her body guide his touch and pressed his thumb lightly against her most sensitive area.

Trilla let out a gasped sound, and her nails dug into the skin at his shoulders. The sound — and the strange way he felt the sensation _with_ her — almost made him lose his focus. He felt the thought form in her mind to move against him with the same pressure he’d felt, and as she moved to do it, he shifted away from her with a cocky smile.

_Give her a taste of her own medicine._

Trilla took a fistful of his hair and pulled down harshly. Cal gasped painfully and his gaze was forced to meet hers. His grip tightened on her as she moved against his hand. His psychometry picked up on the sensation it gave her and it flowed over him harshly, and he resented the throaty groan he made that mirrored hers. He attempted to remove his hand, to leave her wanting as she did him, but her hand closed around his wrist. How had she been able to use his own trick against him?

Her lips parted down at him, the hint of a smile across them, and Cal knew she was enjoying this. Holding such power in her grasp was invigorating to her, so distinctly different from the ways she held it in other scenarios. This was a new world of control, and she adored every second of it. “You and your Jedi tricks,” Trilla said, eyes blazing. “Know your place.”

“Fuck you,” he snapped back. 

She smiled at him. “That’s more like it.” 

This time, she’s the one that leaned down to kiss his neck. His head is throbbing from her grip, but all he seems to feel is the press of Trilla’s lips against his neck, the touch of her torso against his, her hips moving against his hand. “I hate you,” he whispered again, pouring every ounce of frustration into his words. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.” 

Her lips trailed up his neck and she closed her teeth gently around his earlobe. He shuddered against her, and he felt her laugh against his skin, a sound that seemed to extend down throughout his entire body and left him aching. He was in awe that she could still salvage any sense of control with his hand in her pants when he had nearly come undone with the same pressure. “Do you, now?” she teased hotly against his ear, her breath heavy. “I’ll show you what hate is.” 

Cal bit back a sigh and, suddenly dizzy with her words, caught her lips once again in a blazing, raging kiss. Words came to him easily, but he couldn’t bring himself to say any of them: _Do whatever you want to me. Force, do your worst. I’m yours. I’m all yours._ It was almost a beg, and he found Trilla didn’t need to hear the words. 

Then, Trilla shoved him down against the bed beneath him again, his hand slipping away from her; his mind whirled as she unbuckled her trousers, and he pulled at his own. “Look at me,” she demanded, and he was so desperate that he didn’t even think to object to obeying. He knew that she adored this most of all, this control she had over him, but he couldn’t say he minded. It was captivating—the way she watched him with careful eyes, her eyes dark and her lips parted, as she settled over him. Cal couldn’t keep himself in line. He shut his eyes and tipped his head back, a mortifying, honest sound slipping past his lips that he couldn’t bring himself to care about. 

Trilla allowed it, and he could almost see the smile on her face behind his closed eyelids as she moved against him. And when he lets himself speak those words again, into the darkness, with his body trembling beneath her, he knows it’s the furthest thing from the truth. _I hate you_ , he said breathlessly, his fingertips digging into her hips and her body responding blissfully to his sinful touch. _Say it again_ , she said back with that dangerous look in her eye. He said it, again and again, as if to remind himself that his body isn’t lighting up at her touch, that he feels nothing for her, that she feels the same way toward him, but they both know it’s not true.

He felt like a stranger to himself and more himself than he’d ever been before, and he wasn’t sure how that could be. It was as if she’d stretched the very essence of him as far as it could go and showed him his truest form. And he knew it more than ever that this would be the death of him—that _she_ would be the death of him—but with every stroke of her against him, he couldn’t care less about death. 

_I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours._

They’re sickened with the truth, blazing threateningly in their minds, and they pushed it away with another rough kiss, another desperate thrust. He feels _everything_ in an overwhelming wave of ecstasy, dialed to a breaking point through their bond, until it feels like they’re burning as bright as stars. He feels every touch, every wave of pleasure, as if they were one and the same. As if there was nothing between them at all, not even the skin that bound them apart as two. 

Cal felt stretched so thin that he couldn’t piece together how he ended up sitting up again, but it didn’t matter. He mouthed her name against her skin like a prayer, and through the crest rising up to meet them both, his teeth sank into her flesh. Everything he felt was overwhelming, and he had been so lost in the carnality of it all that he hadn’t realized he’d done it until Trilla hissed painfully. Her head slid against his, leaning further into his touch, and her hands tugged painfully at his hair. And then—

“Cal,” she breathed out shallowly. 

He let out a breath at the tone of her voice and sucked at the wound he’d inflicted. The taste of metallic filled his mouth, and he realized he’d bitten hard enough to draw blood. Neither of them cared—too caught up in the way their bodies were joined, the way they clung to each other like guardrails, the way stars burst behind their eyelids.

They map each other’s bodies with lingering hands, exploring every inch, as if there’s nothing left of the galaxy except each other. Their rage-filled kisses, movements, and words had become expelled, morphing into gentle touches and whispers of sweet-nothings they know they shouldn’t speak. They know nothing of love in this way, but they both suppose that what’s between them must be. They don’t think of the future that lies ahead of them where they must face each other again; in this night, it’s only them, lost in their own galaxy where everything is as it should be. 

Cal traced the red skin at her shoulder, marred from his teeth. “I’m sorry about this,” he whispered.

Trilla took hold of his hand. “Don’t be.”

“I hurt you,” he protested lightly.

She shook her head. “You didn’t. I… I’m glad it was different this way.” 

He stared at her for a moment before he suddenly seemed to understand. The Empire had tortured her through with pain on every level. His eyes grazed over the vicious mark his teeth had made on her skin. Maybe she had a point. Maybe he’d given her an outlet to reclaim something for herself after her autonomy had been stripped from her. 

Before he could say anything else, Trilla leaned down and traced her lips over the scar along his nose. Cal shivered. She found her way to the scar stretched across his neck and jaw, and she pressed a soft kiss to them. He had always been self-conscious of the jagged, red lines across his skin, an infinite reminder of how much he’d lost, but when Trilla pressed her lips against them, something changed about the way he saw them. He closed his eyes and felt as though she had erased the terrible history of it and replaced it with something new, something sacred. 

He wondered if his own kisses, as brief as she’d allowed them to be, had done the same to hers. 

Her fingertips traced the one along his jaw and cheek, and there was a sad look in her eye. She didn’t ask, and he wondered if she somehow knew what had happened. He still asked, “Do you want to know?”

Her eyes met his, lips parted, and she nodded. “If you want.”

He swallowed. “That was from blaster fire,” he explained, “during the Purge.” 

She brushed over the scar once more, before she grazed her fingertips along the one behind his ear, a circle of burned skin. “Where is this one from?”

“I…” Cal took a deep breath. “I had to burn off my Jedi braid when… when I escaped. All I had was a lightsaber.”

Her touch followed the one along his nose. “And this one?” she whispered.

“Piece of scrap metal came loose from something I was working on,” he said. 

Her touch shifted to the one along his lips. “And this one?”

“A fight with a scrapper.”

She raised a brow. “Oh?”

“He won.”

Her expression changed to disappointment. “Oh.” 

He let out a small chuckle. He smiled at her and took hold of her hand. He guided it to the back of his head. If she was going to trace his scars, he might as well allow her to do it to each one. He pressed her fingertips beneath his hair, onto the jagged scar he knew lay beneath. She sucked in a breath. 

Her expression changed. “Where’s that one from?” she breathed.

His brows furrowed. The scar had been there for as long as he could remember, but he could never place how he’d gotten it. “I can’t remember,” he whispered honestly. 

Trilla removed her hand. He couldn’t read her expression, and it struck concern in him. Cal reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Trilla,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

She closed her eyes, as if the touch pained her, and took hold of his hand to move it away from her. She looked far away now, and he wanted to reach back to moments before when she had been there with him. She moved away from his touch and laid beside him with her back to him. 

After an agonizing moment, she whispered, “We shouldn’t have done this.”

He turned his head toward her, blinking in disbelief, but her words were final. They settled in his mind heavily. Had he done something, said something, wrong?

He stared at the ceiling. They’d forged something new, and she was going back to shutting him out. He had been angry before, but now, all that rushed through him was sadness. His eyes traced over her skin, over the mess of dark hair on her head. He wanted to graze his fingertips over her skin, to show her how he felt and to see what she felt in return, but he knew she wouldn’t allow it. It pained him that they both couldn’t be and do what the other wanted. 

He could see her bandaged, bloodied hand over her shoulder. She had successfully distracted him from pressing her too much about it beforehand. “What happened?” he whispered. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said back. “Any of it.” 

Watching her there, with her back turned to him, made a lump form in his throat. After everything, was this it? Cal thought about what he’d said before, and though he knew that she knew the truth, he had to make sure. “I didn’t mean what I said,” he whispered in the dark, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “About hating you.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I wish you had… but I won’t have to wish for long.”

“What does that mean?”

“When you discover the truth… the _whole_ truth…” she said, “I will be nothing more than a monster to you. I’m already halfway there.” 

There it was. Something terrible _had_ happened. And whatever it was, it seemed to confirm her monstrosity even further to herself. 

But not to him. 

“Trilla, that’s not—,” he began, but she cut him off.

“Don’t,” she snapped, but he heard the crack in her voice. “This was a mistake.” 

Cal thought about the graze of her fingertips along his skin, his lips brushing along her neck. _Mistake_. Is that what she truly thought? 

His voice was strained. “Why?”

“We will tear each other apart,” she whispered. “This just ensures the wounds are deeper than they ever needed to be.”

Despite himself, tears formed in his eyes. He didn’t want this. But the worst part was that he knew she didn’t want this either. “You don’t have to do this,” he choked out. “It’s not too late.”

“Stop.”

He turned on his side, facing her back. “I’d wait for you,” he whispered. 

“And I’d kill for you if it comes down to it.” She paused. “I’d kill _you_.” 

He closed his eyes. “Trilla…”

He heard her intake of breath, the shake in it. He was sure he would see tears in her eyes if she turned toward him. “If you go through with this, you know what it costs.”

Cal shook his head lightly. “You wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know what I’m capable of, and trust me when I say that you don’t want to find out,” she said. “There’s no point in fighting the inevitable. We knew this would end this way at some point.”

He opened his eyes. After a long stretch of silence, he said, “Whatever happened, Trilla… I’m so sorry.” 

“I am, too.” 

The time they laid there in silence felt like a lifetime. Cal wanted to reach out toward her, to let her see just how far his concern for her went, but the invisible wall between them was the loudest sound in the silence. He let his hand linger as close as it could without touching her, just to feel the warmth radiating off her skin along his, and his chest ached. When the bond finally disconnected, the warmth of her body that had pressed into him grew cold, providing no evidence she had been there at all. He still let his hand linger from where she’d once been, and he wished he could bring her back… to talk about it… to feel the comforting press of someone he felt he knew better than himself. He could feel her a galaxy away, lying in her own bed, mirroring his stance, so close, yet so far.

Breaths away, worlds apart. 

In her absence, a void lingered painfully inside of him, as if she’d taken an integral part of him with her across the galaxy. 

And the more he thought about it, Cal was sure she had. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays! I’m finally on Christmas break after my semester so I’m hoping to get a lot more writing done before my spring semester begins. That being said, thank you for the continued patience with this story, as well as all the love and support. It means the world and so much more. I truly hope you all love the story I tell with these two incredible characters and everyone else along the way. I’ll be back with another update soon! Until then, enjoy ❤️
> 
> Update 01/21/21: This fic is officially on hiatus for the foreseeable future. My spring semester has a heavier work load that I need to stay focused on, and it gives me barely any time to write. I’ll miss writing this story for a while, but I’ll be back soon!

**“** _Nothing’s fair in love and war._ **”**

**Fortress Inquisitorius, Nur, 14 BBY**

She had always found Cal beautiful, that was true, but he looked even more so underneath her touch. She had entertained a faraway fantasy of him that way, once or twice, much to her dismay, but the image in her mind paled in comparison to the reality of it. She couldn’t shake it. 

Trilla couldn’t stop replaying it all over in her mind. Cal, with his swollen lips and tousled hair. Cal, with nearly his entire body flushed red under her touch. Cal, with anger and desire alive in his eyes and pouring through his touch. With his heartbeat frantic underneath her touch, her name like a beautiful symphony ghosting past his lips. With the _sounds_ she coaxed out of him—honest, indulgent sounds she found satisfaction in. With his teeth sinking harshly into her skin, his breath heavy, desperate to stave off the bliss coursing across his body. 

And his scar… 

She pushed the thought away.

They felt the grief and anger in each other, adding fuel to the fire with consumption, but they didn’t ask questions. Trilla hadn’t expected something quite like it. It felt like the galaxy had refined itself down to two bodies in those stolen moments, blurring away everything in its wake to accommodate the fire between them. 

But it wasn’t enough.

Trilla was left alone in the darkness of her quarters. She could still feel the linger of Cal’s touch along her skin, and she shivered. Everything felt cold without him beside her. She pulled her knees up to her chest and curled in on herself. The day flooded back to her mercilessly, and gone was the distraction and control she’d found for a brief moment. 

The initial anger had gone in Cal’s touch.

All that was left in his wake was the grief. 

Trilla placed her hand over her chest, as if her fingertips could seep into her skin, her heart and soul, and claw the ache right out of her. But there it remained, like a vicious blade right through her heart. She closed her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she sobbed. 

+

Trilla retreated to the databases.

She wasn’t sure why she had done it. It wouldn’t provide any sense of closure. If anything, it would make the brutal twist in her stomach even worse. 

She pulled up Sahar’s file. Her throat closed. Seventh Sister had reported the case. 

_Surveillance of Discovery._

Trilla held her breath and clicked on the file. A video opened onto the database screen. It showcased a grainy video that she supposed was caught on a probe droid. The Empire had littered them throughout the galaxy, across all sorts of planets, in their continuous attempt to take control. It was a probe droid that had tipped them off about Kestis in the first place. She pressed the button before she could think twice.

The video played. It seemed to be a more populated section of the planet. Small, makeshift shops were settled over the area. Trilla could make out figures shuffling past each other in the crowd. Her eyes settled over Sahar’s figure nearly immediately. She somehow seemed to stand out in the crowd, but perhaps it was the simple fact that she had experienced her presence in person once again. She had been reminded of her fellow Padawan’s familiarity by their reunitation. Her face was obscured by the same mask Trilla had run into her in. This time, she was submerged in a cloak with a hood over her features.

Her heart ached.

She had heeded her advice on that fateful day and listened to her after all. Trilla had never known what had happened to her, but she hoped she had found her way to a semblance of safety. And she had… Trilla had guaranteed it with her sacrifice. 

She wondered what would have happened if Cere hadn’t betrayed her, betrayed them. Would they have been able to escape to a distant planet and make some sort of lives for themselves? They would have been in hiding, constantly looking over their shoulders, but at least they’d be alive. Alive and together. But Cere… Cere had made sure they would never get it. 

And Trilla herself had purged the possibility from existence with her blade.

There was only so much she could blame on her former Master, and she knew as well as anyone that she alone was at fault for this atrocity. She had delivered the strike herself. She had stolen the galaxy of another innocent, of another beaming light of hope in the shrouding darkness hovering over the universe.

Sahar’s hands were shoved in her cloak’s pockets and she held her head down. Trilla watched as she accidentally bumped into an unsuspecting villager, and she brought her hands out to steady the bystander. Something slipped from her hand, something she’d clutched within the pocket of her cloak. The bystander, a woman with kind eyes, picked it up for her and offered it back. They seemed to recognize each other immediately, and Sahar pulled the woman into an embrace. Trilla could make out the joyful smile across the woman’s features as Sahar pulled away, and she offered the object Sahar had dropped toward her.

Sahar took it gratefully, and tears formed in Trilla’s eyes. Clutched in Sahar’s grip was the plush Jedi figurine. As if she’d brought it along with her for good fortune. A piece of Trilla to take with her when she went out into the village. 

Sahar followed the woman toward another destination, perhaps something they had planned another time, and Trilla’s breath nearly failed her as she realized what was coming. The construction over the building had a timely malfunction. Trilla could make out panicked workers rushing to stop the large piece of metal that hurtled into open space in the market. Open space the woman was running into, her gaze turned back toward Sahar. Trilla watched as Sahar immediately extended a hand and, by the use of the Force, shoved the metal off course to prevent a fatal incident. The woman dodged it in surprise and, immediately, Sahar was there providing her aid and making sure she was okay. 

It was such a simple thing. To extend assistance when it was needed. Especially for a dear friend.

Sahar had remained kind and selfless, even after everything she’d endured. Even after she had been forced into hiding. And she risked it all to help someone in need.

And she would end up dying for it. 

Trilla watched as the probe droid zeroed in on her figure. Sahar turned her attention to it ever so slightly. She turned to go. 

Trilla stopped at the image. She ran her fingertips along the screen, along Sahar’s face. There was so much she would never know about Sahar. She had once known so much about the Padawan. Her favorite color, her favorite Jedi texts, her favorite food. And Trilla couldn’t help thinking about how much she had changed since the Purge.

The thought of Sahar being all alone during that time made the ache in her chest tighten. It was clear she had someone around, considering the woman she’d embraced, but she couldn’t help but wonder if the Padawan had been able to make any other friends of her own or if she’d limited herself to complete isolation since she’d fled. Trilla wasn’t sure what she hoped for. Each possibility was as painful as the last. 

And she needed to know.

Trilla hovered over the next file of information: _Known Allies._

She took a breath and opened it. It detailed information about Sahar’s history as a Jedi, her Master, and her fellow Padawans. It must have been recovered from the days of the Republic. It listed herself as a former ally, and Cere. She stared at the names side by side.

 _Former ally, transitioned Inquisitor,_ her name read. _Successfully eliminated a person of interest._

She swallowed. 

Trilla kept going. There were other names she recognized, people from their younger years, and then a prominent name she didn’t recognize. _Ezin._

Ezin had been Sahar’s significant other, as observed from other surveillance footage. A woman across the planet, near the main village. The woman she’d saved. 

Trilla’s vision blurred, and she realized she was crying.

How long had they been together? How much time had they been able to have before Trilla tore it away? She thought about Ezin stumbling across Sahar’s body, and she couldn’t breathe. What had she done?

Realization slammed into her, years worth of it, and it unraveled in their full magnitude before her eyes. Trilla couldn’t breathe. Faces rose from the depths of her mind, mixtures of brave and fearful in the face of death. She had taken so many lives. She had killed so many people, more than she could ever count. She had never allowed herself to think much about who they were, what lives they led, and definitely not anyone they were acquainted with. 

But now, it was all she could think about.

How many people had she robbed of their happiness? How many were still reeling from the loss that had been done by her hand? How many people in the galaxy had she harmed?

The Empire had robbed her of everything, but then she’d done the same thing to countless others. Becoming an Inquisitor had destroyed her and it had made her a weapon for destruction herself. The same blade they’d used against her had been taken into her hand to use against others. She was no better than the rest of them. She deserved worse.

Her throat tightened.

She opened the comms from the day. Her voice came back to her, reporting their initial arrival of the planet. Her voice sounded so different, and Trilla wished she could tell her former self to get off that planet and get out, no matter what it took. 

“Target sighted,” a troop called. “They’re on the run.”

“Hold your fire,” Seventh replied. “This one isn’t ours to take.”

“Advancing on your position,” the troop replied. “Holding fire.”

They had monitored Sahar’s movements for days. They charted everything and they used it to be sure they trapped her to ensure she had nowhere else to go. It was the same thing they’d done to Kestis. 

Sahar had gone out into the village for food and had returned to the outskirts being surrounded by stormtroopers. She’d retreated into the shadows, clutching her supplies like any other villager, and attempted to return to her home. But she must’ve seen Seventh Sister as she approached. And when she tried to make a run for it, Trilla had been called out to finish the job. 

It had been planned out to each detail.

It made her stomach turn.

“I’m so sorry,” Trilla whispered. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you this time.”

But Sahar would never forgive her, would she? She had considered Trilla a friend, a sister, and she had proved to her that she was everything but. There was nothing merciful in what she’d done, less so in how it had unraveled. 

She wasn’t only an enemy to Sahar or Cere or Cal or even the galaxy itself. 

She was an enemy to herself, too. 

She buried her face in her hands, trying to push back against the emotion unfurling in her chest. She dropped her hands against the table, pressing her forehead into her forearm, and closed her eyes. Trilla sat there, alone, and held the tears back as if her life depended on it. 

+

The Fortress Inquisitorius was silent in the dead of night, save for the training room. Trilla gripped her lightsaber and spun around the combat droid’s strike. She kept seeing Sahar’s form behind her eyes, the grip on her saber as she held up against Trilla’s attacks, and the sheer hesitance in each attack. Trilla gritted her teeth and defeated the droid. She’d slashed through the main components of it, and as it clattered to the floor, there was Sahar’s ruined body flashing before her.

Her breath shook.

“A bit early, don’t you think?”

Trilla turned to Seventh Sister. She had shown up in the training room shortly after her spontaneous visit to the databases, desperate to chase away the weight in her chest, but fighting the combat droids still left her alone with her thoughts. She didn’t want that, so she did the next best thing. She had shown up at the Inquisitor’s quarters in a haze and spewed some nonsense about a challenging fight to prepare for her next mission. And, of course, as expected, Seventh Sister had made her appearance. 

Seventh took in the sight of her with obvious disagreement. “You look terrible,” she commented. “What happened to your hand?”

Trilla flexed her bandaged hand. “Nothing of particular importance.”

“Did you even get any sleep?”

She thought of the press of Cal’s body beneath hers, the heat that had flared along her skin, and the punishing graze of him against her. She shook the thought away and paced before her. “I was preoccupied.”

Seventh cocked her head to one side. “Pretty little Jedi on your mind?” she asked. “Or was it that fellow Padawan of yours?”

Trilla held back against the anger that rippled in her chest. “Watch yourself,” she said.

“You should be proud of yourself, Second. She had it coming. They all do.”

Trilla lunged and swung her saber down toward the Inquisitor. Seventh dodged away from the harsh strike and, as Trilla attacked with another, she blocked it with her ignited weapon. “There you are,” Seventh Sister said, pleased. 

Trilla attacked again, and Seventh held her own as easy as breathing. She didn’t usually fight with their designated weapons, but this provided a dangerous edge she was desperate for. And against the Seventh Sister of all people, it brought out that inferno at the depth of her being that she could drown herself in. Forget Sahar, Cal, even Cere, and remember who she was. Who she’d been carved out to be. 

Seventh extended her hand and Trilla was hauled into the air. She landed hard on the training room floor, rolling on the metal beneath her, and she gasped for breath. She was struck that she hadn’t anticipated it — she never allowed anyone to catch her off guard so easily.

Seventh Sister sighed. She rolled her saber around lazily. “You’re getting sloppy,” she commented.

Trilla was back on her feet in seconds, lunging again. She wasn’t sure how it happened. Their weapons had clashed and then, Seventh had relented. The maneuver had caught her off balance, forcing her weapon away from her defense, and Seventh’s fist slammed against her jaw. She let out a terrible sound, a mix between a cry and a whimper, and she landed on the ground again. Blood filled her mouth, and she spit a mouthful against the ground. 

“I’m disappointed, Second Sister,” Seventh Sister continued. She peered down at her. “When I returned after that hefty mission of mine, I was hoping you’d be more of a challenge to train with. It doesn’t seem like your reputation lives up to its name, after all. Especially with that dramatic stunt you pulled yesterday.” 

Fighting after Ontotho made her feel like she did as a new Inquisitor. Her mind had been so scattered, so broken, that she could barely hold up a fight. She would suffer every physical affliction in the book with no mercy — and now, that familiar helplessness returned. 

Trilla focused her awareness of the pain in her jaw and drew from it. She forced herself to her feet and attacked again. The Inquisitor countered attack after attack, no matter what tricks Trilla resorted to, and she managed to stab the saber harshly against Trilla’s arm. Trilla hissed in pain and retreated. 

Seventh paced around her. “What a shame if your Jedi has to die, truly,” she said. “I’ve seen holos of him. He’s a sight for sore eyes.”

Trilla advanced again, eager to get Cal purged from the conversation, and managed to catch the Inquisitor by surprise. Their weapons clashed against each other, and Trilla seized her chance. She swung her leg up and kicked the Inquisitor back. 

Seventh stumbled, but didn’t fall. “Ah, a little possessive over the little Jedi?” she taunted. “I don’t blame you. I’d love to make him break myself if I could get my hands on him.”

“He’s _mine_ , don’t you remember?”

She shrugged. “That’s up for debate.” 

Trilla barely knew what she was doing as she lunged at the Inquisitor. Seventh parried the attack with ease and struck toward her harshly. Trilla blocked the strike, pain flaming up her arm from her wound, and she stepped back into defense to catch her breath.

“You are so sensitive lately,” Seventh commented. “Lighten up, why don’t you? I won’t be touching your little Jedi.”

Trilla circled around her. “Why don’t you shut up for once?”

She ignored the words. “Come on, now, Second,” she taunted. “Show me what you’re made of.”

She gripped the hilt of her lightsaber and swung again. The Inquisitor jumped away from the attack and her blade cut through the air harshly. Their blades clashed. 

Seventh peered into her. “I spoke to the Grand Inquisitor today.”

Trilla gritted her teeth. “And what did you tell him?”

Seventh Sister shrugged. “The truth. As pathetic as it was.” She paused and smiled, and Trilla knew whatever left her mouth next would be words of regret. Trilla let out a breath and pushed away from her; the Inquisitor didn’t lunge, to her surprise.“I must say,” Seventh drawled, her voice holding a dangerous edge, “I do hope you make the Jedi suffer as much as you made that worthless former Padawan of yours suffer.”

Something in her gave. Trilla screamed as she charged forward. She jumped, fighting against the weakness heavy in her body, and slammed the lightsaber down. Seventh rolled away from the strike with a natural ease. She forced away the images of Sahar that flashed behind her eyes from their fight; the clash of their blades, the hesitance, the reveal. Trilla yelled against it and her lightsaber slammed into the Inquisitor’s, and she caught the slight tremble in her shoulders.

With a start, she realized Seventh Sister was _laughing_.

She was enjoying this.

Trilla fought harder, but Seventh didn’t have the dark cloud hanging over her that she did. Seventh’s saber slammed into her side, and she clutched her side in pain. Her lungs protested with every breath in the aftermath. Her side heaved in a white-hot flame as she attempted to keep up with Seventh Sister’s strikes. Trilla managed to snag her weapon across Seventh’s arm, and she relished the cry of pain as her skin charred underneath the strike. She wished she could inflict more pain, leave her broken as she had done her on Ontotho… except so much worse. But she’d take what she could get.

Trilla couldn’t help her smile, even with blood staining her teeth. “Lost your touch?” she taunted. 

But when Trilla rose her gaze towards the Inquisitor, it was Sahar standing before her with a hand clutching her own charred wound. 

Horror seized her. 

“No,” she breathed, her eyes burning.

Her previous words were a mistake. Seventh Sister appeared before her and swung her saber with new ferocity, and Trilla blocked it with a childlike cry. But she swung again, and Trilla barely managed to block the incoming strike. It didn’t matter. Seventh Sister’s hand closed around her throat and slammed her back against the wall, and Trilla’s vision nearly went black at the impact of her hand slamming back against it. Her saber had slipped from her grip, clattering along the training room floor, and she blinked away tears against her best efforts.

Her mind fought to catch up with what she’d witnessed and what was happening. The image of Sahar facing her blurred away, leaving only Seventh Sister with her grip harsh around her neck. The shock came first.

“You listen here, and you listen close, Second Sister,” Seventh Sister said. “Your time at the Inquisitorius is running low if you don’t straighten out.”

Trilla let out a threatening sound underneath the words. The cauterized wound at her side protested against the maneuver. Her entire body seemed to ache.

“You think Ninth Sister didn’t tell us about her suspicions over you and your precious Jedi before Kashyyyk, hm?” Seventh Sister continued. “We aren’t stupid, Second, and you’re walking along a dangerous line. You better be sure where your allegiances lie before you end up dead. If _anything_ that Ninth Sister said is true, you’re looking at treason. You’re looking at death.

“And trust me when I say I won’t hesitate to be the one to do it,” Seventh Sister promised. “So, when you get back from wherever you’re headed, you better have the holocron in one hand and the Jedi’s _head_ in another.” 

A low sound escaped Trilla at the mere consideration of such a thing. Seventh Sister was a monstrosity unlike any other. “ _I’m going to kill you,_ ” Trilla guaranteed through choked gasps.

Seventh ignored her words and let her go. Trilla fell to her knees, clawing at her throat, and gasped for breath. “And if you’re going to kill me,” Seventh continued, “I’d advise you to do it in a discreet manner. You don’t want anyone getting suspicious.” 

The Inquisitor knelt before her for another retort or threat that Trilla didn’t care to hear more of. She took hold of Seventh’s throat so harshly that she let out a yelp. “Walk away from this before I show you that my reputation precedes me, and keep Kestis _out of your mouth_ ,” she warned closely. 

Seventh took hold of her shoulder and shoved her away. Trilla stumbled back. She was startled that she’d ever thought Ninth Sister was bad — Seventh Sister was her own version of a nightmare. Ninth had threatened Cal’s life, but he had held his own against the reckless Inquisitor. But Seventh was calculating and ferocious in a way that left Trilla’s skin prickling. If it ever came down to it, she was sure either she or Cal would need more against her than simple will. 

The Inquisitor smiled and rubbed at the skin of her neck. “There’s the Second Sister I know. You’re gonna want to hide that when you see the Grand Inquisitor,” she commented, gesturing to Trilla’s bruises. “It’s quite… noticeable… and I don’t think it’s best the Grand Inquisitor knows what just happened.”

“That you just threatened me?”

She smirked. “No,” Seventh said back, “that I accused you of treason, and you didn’t care to deny it. That Jedi really is something, isn’t he?”

Trilla would’ve laughed if the words didn’t ring so true. Her eyes were cautious. “You’re as bad as Ninth Sister.”

“I disagree. See, I’m not dead,” she said, “but you? You might as well be if you fail.” She stepped away. “Have a nice talk with the Grand Inquisitor for me, will you?” 

Trilla watched the Inquisitor disappear from the training room. She sat up on the training room floor, her hands over her knees, and allowed herself to breathe. Either she’d lost her grip entirely or she was about to and, if she didn’t do anything about it soon, things wouldn’t be going well for neither she or Kestis. 

It already didn’t for Sahar.

She closed her eyes.

It struck her to realize that she didn’t know how this would end for either of them. If Kestis died, she would never forgive herself. But if she died, neither he or Cere would ever forgive themselves. But what other choice could she make to prevent both? 

+

Trilla was startled by her own reflection. 

Blood had dried along her nose and mouth, and she winced at the sting as she swiped it away. Underneath the mess of blood that had caked her face, bruises had already begun to form. Her jaw was littered with inflamed skin, sensitive to touch, but it was nothing compared to the line across her neck. 

Seventh had clearly wanted to get her point across. 

Trilla gazed into her own eyes. She could barely recognize the person she was looking at. It rang too familiarly, alike to the broken reflection she’d seen the first few weeks at the Inquisitorius. But if her experience had any say, this would pass. She would come into her own again. She would be the monster they wanted.

They had wrought her away from lively earth and placed her instead on barren, bloodied ground, still stained with her own blood. 

And there she would remain.

Trilla considered taking a healing stim to stave off the ache pulsating through her body. It would conceal the starkness of bruises and marks as they began to heal with the aid it provided, but she turned away from the idea once it came. She wanted to feel every fleeting and profuse pang of pain alike. Remind her of her weakness. Remind her what needed to be done to be remade anew. 

She hissed as she peeled her uniform away from her skin to fall into a ruined heap on the ground of the fresher. The wound Cal had made on her shoulder greeted her in her reflection, a crescent-shaped mark of red. Her breath hitched at the sight of it, and her fingertips brushed along it. She could still feel the caress of his teeth against her neck, the bite of his nails sinking into her flesh. She closed her eyes as she exhaled, forcing the thoughts to the back of her mind, and stepped into the cascading water.

Her contused skin stung underneath the patter of water, and she groaned silently in acknowledgement but continued. Her hands trembled before her, and she pulled them into fists to steady them. Her breath was a tremble that entered her lungs and escaped with the same vulnerable shiver. Her back throbbed where she’d fallen countless times throughout the morning, and she didn’t want to peek to see the purpled skin she knew would be present. Her entire body seemed to tingle with injury after injury, and she was sure it was probably worse than she was making it out to be.

But it didn’t matter, none of it did.

What more was her body than just a machine to the Empire? It would heal and mold itself in a new strength. For now, she would take every shivering pain like an assurance. 

Trilla thought of what she kept seeing — the glimpses of the terror she had forced Sahar under — and quivered. It followed her like a stain, one that had been etched into her very being. She had felt that way about each kill, but this was the darkest one on her being. 

This had been personal unlike any other.

And no matter what the Empire promised, Trilla was sure there would never be a moment in time where she could forgive herself for the ruthlessness she had partaken in. Not only against Sahar, but everyone she had ever harmed. Sahar had amplified her actions under a harsh scope, and she knew she was beyond saving.

Her touch grazed along the sensitive skin on her shoulder again as she lathered the Empire’s rough soap across her skin. _Fool,_ she scolded at the memory. She still remembered the fear that had coursed through her when she pressed her lips against Cal’s — fear of what this would do to her, to him, to them both — and how she kept it at bay with more of his touch. She had always allowed herself to get lost in the thrill of the chase, and in this, she had let herself get lost in a different one. It had been as if she were clawing her way to the heart of them both like a peasant in search of treasure, in search of a lifeline, of a promise to stand upon at last. 

And she’d found something far more valuable than she could have ever bargained for.

It scared her half to death.

So she buried it again and again and again, but the knowledge prickled at the back of her head, never to be forgotten. 

The water that pooled at her feet ran pink. When Trilla turned her attention to the sting at her shoulder, she realized she had torn the wound open once again. She had scrubbed it bloody, but it remained, as sure as everything else she felt for him.

+

When she stepped in to see the Grand Inquisitor, Trilla was struck to find her troops there. _Her_ squad. The Grand Inquisitor dismissed them as she entered, and she walked by them on their way out. 

She stopped before him. “Why is my squad here?” she inquired. 

“You’re not the only one they answer to, Second Sister,” he replied, “or have you forgotten?” He paused. “There seems to be a lot of things you seem to have forgotten lately.”

His intent was clear. She could almost hear the words. _You have forgotten who you are._ She refused to meet his gaze. She knew what she looked like: damaged and weak and marred, like a helpless child. 

“What happened to you?” Disapproval was heavy in his tone. Disappointment lingered. 

“Training.” She almost had to force the words out. “With Seventh Sister.”

He smiled. “A bold choice… considering Ontotho,” he observed. He stepped closer. “It says a lot, doesn’t it? It’s usually so difficult to get through your impenetrable guard…”

The Grand Inquisitor’s fingertips grazed at her chin as he observed her. “Look at you…” he commented, that bone-chilling tone thick in his voice, “torn apart over a pesky Jedi you haven’t seen in years.” He practically spat the words, as if the mere mention of a Jedi was bitter and sour on his tongue. 

Trilla turned her head away from his touch, her eyes hard. She clenched her jaw at the mention of Sahar. “I did what I had to do,” she said through gritted teeth.

“And look at what a child it’s made of you,” he said. “Indeed, you completed the kill. A necessary sacrifice to prove your allegiance… but that worthless Jedi hurt you more than you did her.”

Trilla opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t find words. It was true, wasn’t it? Killing Sahar had been like killing a part of herself — maybe the biggest part. 

The Grand Inquisitor was silent for a moment, before adding, “And Seventh Sister tells me you hesitated on Ontotho yesterday.”

“I killed her!” Trilla snapped. “I killed the Jedi, isn’t that my job?!”

It was foolish for her to snap at him that way, she knew that, but Trilla wasn’t exactly making logical decisions as of late.

“You hesitated!” he shot back. 

She didn’t say anything. 

“It makes me wonder about the other Jedi… Cal Kestis…” His eyes darkened. “How he’s escaped your grasp time and time again...”

A guttural sound elicited from her throat at the sound of Cal’s name on his lips. Memories rose in her mind from the night before: the brush of Cal’s lip against hers, his head tipped back beneath her, eyelashes fluttered shut against his blushed skin. A flash of pain shuddered through the wound at her shoulder where Cal had sank his teeth into, like a reminder. She shielded it with the pain and anguish she had been taught to draw power from, and her nostrils flared. Knowing how desperately the Empire wanted Cal dead made her want to tear it to the ground herself, but knowing the position she was in, Trilla couldn’t turn away now, not after everything. Could she? 

His eyes flashed. “Don’t tell me that you’ve grown to care for the Jedi now. One of the best of my Inquisitorius, the most determined and bloodthirsty, smitten over a good for nothing Jedi?” he asked. He laughed in mock amusement. “You wouldn’t be the first, but you certainly won’t be the last we have to _break_ more than once. And if Ontotho has any say, it surely is that there is some re-evaluation in order. I must say, Second Sister, I’m surprised. I never took you as one to go soft—“

She shuddered at the thought. She should have wanted it… to let them mold her and fix her into who she was meant to be. But she didn’t want to endure that terror again, nor lose the little she’d gained; she wondered how it was possible that she felt caught between two places that were so distinct.

The answer seemed to be the kind eyes and fiery hair she knew as well as herself.

She didn’t want to hear the rest of it. “I will get the holocron,” she assured. “I will kill the Jedi myself.” She lowered her voice. “It’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

He regarded her with eyes of dark interest, and smiled. “Do not fail me again, Second Sister,” he said firmly, “or his death, and the death of your traitorous fellow Padawan, will seem merciful compared to what we will do to you.”

“She meant nothing to me,” she said through her teeth, “and neither does Kestis.”

He raised a brow. “And your former Master?”

She paused. “She’s dead to me,” she said. “I envy the day her life can run dry in my grasp.” 

His gaze was penetrating, as if he could see right through her. “For your sake, Second Sister, I hope that’s true.” 

He turned on his heel and waved a hand in dismissal. Trilla blinked and turned to leave. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“Second Sister?” the Grand Inquisitor called.

Trilla turned toward him and saw he stood with his back to her, his hands clasped behind him. His head was turned in her direction. There was nothing merciful in the stance.

“Yes, Grand Inquisitor?” 

“When you return,” he said, “be prepared for re-evaluation. Lord Vader will be informed of your… _skirmishes._ We will be keeping a close eye. Fail, and you may not only be faced with my wrath, but his as well.”

Her heart dropped. A chill crawled up her spine.. No one faced Lord Vader and lived to tell the tale, but all she said was, “Yes, Grand Inquisitor.”

+

Trilla had murdered Sahar cruelly in the name of the Empire, and Kestis would have to be next. If she didn’t kill him, they’d kill her. But how could she kill him? Killing Sahar had broken her in two, and killing Kestis would be purging whatever was left of her. How much could she endure?

 _Fail, and you may not be faced with my wrath, but his as well._ Desperation clawed its way up her throat. She wasn’t sure she could do as she needed to.

But she couldn’t afford to lose.

Trilla considered capturing Cal, bringing him back to be made with the same terrible mold she had been formed under. It was an unacceptable consideration. She would never allow such a vicious fate to befall him; death would fare better than what the Empire would make of him.

The only option loomed brightly in her mind, and her heart twinged painfully.

She exhaled. She focused on the ache across her body and drew focus from it. She’d use it to her advantage, bury herself in it, until there was no space for questioning. 

She knew what she had to do.

She opened her comm. “Prepare my troops and prepare my ship,” she ordered. “We’re going hunting for the Jedi.” 

She didn’t know where he was going, not yet, but she needed to get away from the Fortress. There was an unease heavy in her chest that she tried to ignore. She kept seeing Kestis’ face behind her eyes.

Her troops followed behind her. She refused to answer their questions as to where they were headed — she didn’t know, either. She demanded their silence, and when one troop decided to have a smart mouth, he ended up suspended in the air clutching at his constricted throat. That particular stormtrooper, along with the infuriating others, were gloriously silent after that. 

That familiar shudder in the Force pressed close, and Trilla clenched her hands into fists at her side. She forced herself to breathe. She closed her eyes, opened them, and continued forward. 

The troops filed into the elevator shaft leading to the hanger bay. Trilla stepped in after them, at their head, and she sucked in a breath as the tension between her and Cal settled. Her hand hovered over the button that would shut the shaft and lead them on their way.

But Cal stood before her. 

The sight of him made her nearly breathless. He looked as beautiful as ever, his hair unruly, eyes bright, and sweat building on his brow. She could still see that image of him up close, underneath her. There was an earnest look in his gaze that nearly broke her; he knew where they stood. She knew immediately, upon the sight of him, that she could never rid the galaxy of such goodness by taking his life… could she, truly? She glanced down at what he was holding in his hands, and shock settled over her as she realized it was the Astrium.

He’d found it.

She met his eyes once again, and from the grave look on his face, she knew that he recognized his mistake. They were both headed in the same direction now. They would face each other again.

And only one of them would emerge victorious. 

Both of their lives and missions depended on it. 

There was no anger in his face; only sadness. 

_I’m sorry it has to be this way_ , Trilla wanted to tell him. But wasn’t this the only way to ensure his safety? If she was in control of the missions, leading them? If the duty had been placed on Seventh, Kestis would be dead by nightfall, even if it meant returning with missing limbs. Anything for the prize. 

Anything for another dead Jedi.

This way, maybe she could find a solution… or at least make it merciful.

She stared at him a moment too long in silence. A thousand words seemed to slip between them, everything they wanted and couldn’t have. It took nearly everything in her to extend her hand further and press the button on the elevator shaft. She tried to swallow down the lump in her throat. His gaze held hers, and there was no denying the glimmer in his eyes. _We will tear each other apart,_ she’d said in the dark between them. _This just ensures that the wounds are deeper than they ever needed to be._

This once, Trilla hated being right.

The last thing she saw was his defeated, yet determined, expression as the shaft cut off their sight of each other. Breath filled her lungs again. Trilla blinked away the burn in her eyes. 

“Bogano,” she said to her troops once they reached the hangar bay, aware of the hoarseness in her voice. “We’re setting a course for Bogano.”

+

When they landed on the planet, Trilla could make out Cal’s ship in the distance. Cere’s ship, too, she didn’t like remembering. It demanded her attention across the land like a taunt. 

A reminder of what had been stolen from her at the hand of Cere’s betrayal: safety, companionship, _purpose._

She watched her troops file out of their ships, weapons in arm. She thought of the image of them filing out of the Grand Inquisitor’s room. Trilla hesitated for a moment, and an idea bloomed in her mind. It was against protocol. She had orders. But she didn’t care, and she didn’t want to leave herself or Cal open to any unnecessary risk.

Let her make up her mind once she faced him again.

Whichever way things went, she needed _time._

Trilla glanced at the button of interest in thought for a brief moment. It would be simple to do, she knew. She had done similar things before, thanks to Cere’s guidance. It would be an extra form of protection if anything went wrong, and from the way Ontotho turned out for her, the benefits outweighed everything else. She had no reason to trust the Empire, but she still wanted to regain their trust… and she wanted to keep Cal alive while she was at it. If he was going to die at anyone’s hand, it would be hers and hers alone… if she could manage it, that was.

She really shouldn’t.

But Trilla couldn’t risk it.

She let out a breath and opened the communications box. The wires were second nature under her touch and she rerouted them with care and precision. Communication between the planet and the Fortress would need to be approved by her and her alone. Her troops would have already confirmed their arrival, and the Fortress wouldn’t be expecting much else until they spotted the Jedi. She kept the communication channel online, a simple facade to make it seem that they were still connected, but she knew the truth. 

_You’re being paranoid_ , she told herself. 

And maybe she was. Maybe this was the most outlandish thing she could ever think of and do — behind the impulsive decision to bed a _kriffing Jedi_ , of course. She was practically already in her grave after everything she had done thus far; this would only be a nail in her coffin. But she couldn’t take a risk. She needed to be sure.

Ontotho had done a number on her, and she wouldn’t allow the same thing to happen twice.

Trilla stepped out onto the planet and approached the troops. They were standing before the Jedi structure that stretched out into the sky. “Anything?” she asked.

A troop was looking down at a visual of the planet on a hologram. “We spotted movement within the Vault,” he said. “We think it’s the Jedi.”

Trilla’s heart dropped at the thought of seeing him again. _Certainly_ seeing him again. In the flesh. “It has to be,” she commented, peering across the green terrain to the ship in the distance. “His crew wouldn’t have gone with him.”

“On your command, Second.”

“I’m going in,” she said. “Stand guard.”

“And if the Jedi runs?”

“Leave that to me.”

“Are… what?”

Annoyance rippled through her. Couldn’t these troops simply listen to her commands and obey them without questioning further? It was as if they hadn’t been trained to do that exact thing, but they’d also been trained in weaponry and shooting — they weren’t particularly good at that either. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised after all. Even so, she was going to make one of them regretful one of these days.

“He’s mine for the taking,” she emphasized. 

_Mine_. Something about it felt strange on her tongue. It wasn’t the first time she had referred to Cal in such a way, but strangely, she found the context off putting.

She wanted him, yes. 

But not like this. 

“I’ll deal with it,” she continued, the words slicing through her thoughts. “Stand guard until I give you further orders.” 

And with that, Trilla stepped through the crack and into the Vault.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Another update! Bit of a long one, so buckle up!
> 
> My studies have made it difficult to continue writing, but I’m doing my best. I placed this story on hiatus for a bit, but that will be lifted. This story is a huge passion project, so I’m still determined to write it when I can. Updates from here on out will be inconsistent, but I’ll be doing what I can to get another one out soon. To each of you who have read, left kudos, or commented on this story, thank you so so much. Your support is such a bright light. Until the next update, I hope you enjoy ❤️

**“** _ Nothing’s fair in love and war. _ **”**

**Dathomir + Bogano, 14 BBY**

When Cal woke in the morning, there was a blissful moment of ignorance. Still caught in the receding grasp of a slumber, he groaned and pressed into the warmth of the bed beneath him. He inhaled deeply and stopped, eyes snapping open, as the night washed back over him.

The sheets smelled like her.

Even across a galaxy, her presence remained.

Suddenly, he was wide awake. He sat up and his feet met the cold sting of the Mantis’ floor. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He and Trilla had ventured beyond every boundary that should have been set in place, and it had still ended with the same twinge in his chest. He thought about the honest words he’d said in the aftermath, and if she’d listen. He hoped she would.

Those words were all he had left to get through to her.

_ Dathomir,  _ he remembered. They were to return to Dathomir. He would have to face his Master again. After Ilum, his role in everything had become clearer, perhaps more than ever. But after the night before, guilt turned over his stomach. He should have known better, shouldn’t he?

Perhaps his Master would say as much. 

He shoved the possibility away and forced himself to get ready for the demanding day ahead. He thought of Trilla, wherever she was. They had stumbled across something new, and then she’d turned away from it. He wondered how far she was willing to go to convince herself of a truth that was plainly not her own. 

Cal stopped before the door and glanced once more at the bed pushed into the wall. He could barely believe what had happened hours prior: Trilla’s hands in his hair, her breath hot against his neck, the pressure of her body atop his. He huffed in frustration and yanked the sheets from the bed. “What a Jedi you are,” he muttered beneath his breath as he balled the sheets underneath his arm. He stepped into the hallway, stripped sheets in hand.

Cere stopped suddenly before him, and Cal stumbled to avoid walking into her. His heart dropped at the sight of her, assured that she would somehow know the truth of what happened. Disgrace plagued him. 

“Oh, good morning, Cal,” she called. Her gaze lingered on the sheets in his hand and she raised a brow. “Something happened?” 

He didn’t meet her eyes. “Nightmares,” he lied. “Sweat right through them.”

_ Bet you did.  _

_ Shut up,  _ Cal told himself. 

“We have a laundry droid here,” Cere said, pointing down the hall. She opened her arms in offering, and Cal flushed. “I can take it for you if you’d like—” 

“No!” Cal objected, louder than he’d intended. Cere’s eyes widened slightly. He cleared his throat and said, “It’s okay. I… I got it.”

“Okay…” she said, clearly off balanced by his response. “Well, Greez made some food if you’re hungry. And there’s caf.”

“Thanks.”

She paused before him. “Do… do you want to talk about the nightmares?”

He shook his head and tore his eyes away from hers. “Definitely not.”

“Well, I’m here if you need me, Cal.”

“I appreciate that, Cere.”

Cal watched her walk away in silence. He closed his eyes and sighed. How much longer would he lie about this?

+

Cal didn’t have much of an appetite, but he managed to get a couple bites of Greez’s signature flatcakes down. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to settle the gnawing in his stomach that had started to gain traction. He kept his cup of caf in hand in the hopes it would keep the rest of his hunger at bay the more he drank from it.

BD-1 peered up at him from the holotable as he approached. Cal muttered a small greeting and patted it gently, but he couldn’t hold its gaze too long. It had been right, after all.

Cal set a course for Dathomir on the holotable and gulped down the last of the caf. 

“Dathomir, huh?” Cere called from the cockpit.

Cal placed his empty cup on the table and approached the cockpit silently. He crossed his arms and leaned his weight onto the entrance’s wall. “It’s time I faced him,” he said silently.

Cere turned to look at him, her lips twitching up into a smile. “Yes, you’re ready to face your past.”

Words slipped past his lips before he could stop them, and each one felt bitter coming out of his mouth. “What about you and Trilla?”

She glanced toward the ground. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

_ Me either,  _ he thought. He’d have to face Trilla again — that much was inevitable. But after everything, he felt nearly sick at the thought.

“You know what you need to do to start healing, and I’m so proud of you for that,” she said. She turned back to her task, but there was no mistaking the dread in her voice. “I have my own path.”

“I’m here for you if you need me,” he said, and he meant it. 

Cal wasn’t sure how Cere would react once she knew the truth of what had been happening between him and Trilla, but it was a conversation he wasn’t willing to have just yet. Holding back the fact of the matter to her shed light on her own falsity. He finally understood why she had held back the accuracy of her situation with Trilla when he’d first joined the crew. He was frightened. What would she say? Would she call him a fraud?

He had made his peace with Cere, and he was afraid he would compromise it by his candor. The conversation was unavoidable, but he would keep it at bay for now. Reaching a middle ground with Cere had taken more than he’d thought. 

Now, Trilla was all that was left.

+

When they landed on Dathomir, Cal barely said a goodbye before he was off the Mantis and running over the planet. Nightsisters and Nightbrothers still met his arrival with resistance, but the more he ventured towards the temple, the more they returned to the dead. There was no sight of Nightsister Merrin or Malicos when he arrived, and he wasn’t sure if that should have felt like a relief or a threat.

The two seemed too powerful to stick to the shadows as he came to get what he needed. 

Cal stopped before the temple’s entrance. His first attempt at accessing the ruins further had ended in turmoil with the harsh reminder of everything he’d lost, a necessary truth to face if he wished to prevail. And now, he would have to face it with new eyes.

Cal pressed his hand against the stone and closed his eyes. Whispers and images rose to greet his touch, and he had the innate sense of being pulled into it. He opened his eyes to find himself in the same fog shrouded surroundings he had been in before.

Master Tapal walked into view.

Cal stood. “Master.”

His Master’s face was full of disapproval. “You were wrong to return here unarmed,” he commented.

Cal took his repaired and remade lightsaber into his hand. He held it up to be observed. “Not unarmed,” he said.

“You think that lightsaber proves you a Jedi?”

Cal had run from and fought his past for too long. And he knew what that would do to someone. It would never allow them to move forward. If he wished to help Trilla, he would have to do it for himself. Not just for her… he owed it to himself to allow himself healing. As she did.

“No… facing you, memories that have haunted me since Bracca… I won’t run from them anymore.”

“Then let us see what manner of death your courage brings.”

Cal’s heart dropped at the words, at the swift ignition of Master Tapal’s weapon, but he stood firm. He ignited his own blade, but didn’t charge forward. Master Tapal lunged toward him, launching a harsh attack, but Cal stayed on the defense. His Master didn’t relent, delivering blow after blow, and Cal blocked each strike. When he finally struck out against Tapal, their blades clashed loudly. Something inside Cal recoiled from the violence and, all at once, he seemed to understand what he must do.

Master Tapal backed away at the same time Cal did, as if an unspoken communication had occurred. “Impressive,” his Master praised, “but is power the answer?”

Cal surrendered and clipped his weapon to his side, rendering him defenseless. Everything within him seemed to still -- he knew it was what he had to do. He gazed at his past, the loss and grief and life that he’d lost, and he stopped before it. “No,” he said in recognition. In acceptance.

Master Tapal lunged for a fatal strike, and Cal surrended entirely to it, and the blade stopped abruptly before striking him.

Cal looked up at him. “Master… I will never forget,” he assured. “The loss has become a part of me. I will honor your teaching and your sacrifice.” 

Master Tapal stepped away and observed his Padawan for a moment. He turned on him as the entrance to the temple shifted before them. “Remember… persistence reveals the path.”

But Cal couldn’t let his Master slip away, seemingly for the last time, before saying something. Surely, the Master he knew so well would offer something,  _ anything _ , for Cal to cling to. “Master,” Cal called suddenly, and the rest of the words were lodged in his throat, choked down not by shame, but by something else.

_ Hope,  _ he recognized.

Cal knew he would never be ashamed of what he’d done with Trilla, even though the Order had warned him otherwise. 

His Master was already looking at him. “Cal… the Jedi have fallen,” he said. “Maybe it’s time they change, too.” 

Cal exhaled, catching sight of his Master’s face before the world tilted on its axis. Something lingered in the expression, and it was only after a moment that he realized what it was. An unwavering pride and faith in him. He was brought back to the temple’s entrance. His heart swelled, and his eyes stung. He’d gone above and beyond before the Purge to win his Master’s approval, and it seemed as if he’d done that and more in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

_ Maybe it’s time they change, too.  _ Cal had heard his fair share of Jedi failures in whispers and rumors in his youth, but he never paid much mind to them. The Jedi weren’t perfect, he knew that as well as anyone, but they weren’t exempt from criticisms, either. And Cal, being one of the last of the Jedi left… couldn’t he build something new, something better, from the ashes of the fallen? Perhaps it was another thing that was integral to his journey.

Stone ground against stone, shifting the earth beneath his feet, and the temple opened before him. 

Cal stepped out.

Ghostly whispers greeted his entrance. He took hold of his saber and ignited it for extra caution. He recognized the pressure and shiver in the air around him. He turned toward it.

“You chose to return,” a familiar voice said. 

One moment later, Merrin appeared before him. The hood she had worn the previous time he’d seen her was gone, exposing her features and qualities entirely. Her platinum hair was pulled back away from her face in a knot at the back of her head, save for a strand that hung over the frame of her cheek. The exposure, however, had done nothing to chip away at her intimidation.

“Brave,” she commented, “but not wise.”

“Maybe.” He switched off his lightsaber. He didn’t want her to perceive it as a threat. “Merrin, right?” He stepped toward her, testing the waters. “I’m Cal Kestis. What you were told about the Jedi was not true.”

“So you say…  _ Cal _ ,” she said, unconvinced. “Malicos said many things, too.”

“Taron Malicos might have been part of my Order, but what he is now, I… I have no idea. All I do know is having a lightsaber--” He tossed the weapon toward her and she caught the hilt of the saber without a second glance. “--isn’t what makes you a Jedi.”

She peered down at it. There was a troubled look on her face that he knew too well — he’d experienced it on Bracca when he recognized Star Destroyers. It was easy to identify after the loss and grief he’d endured after Order 66 was declared and the years that followed; it was the sight of old wounds torn open. 

“Then what does?” she asked. 

“We were peacekeepers,” he explained. “We were betrayed by those we protected. Hunted down by the Empire. I might be one of the last of my kind.”

She glanced at him for a brief moment. Her guard wavered at his words. She ignited his lightsaber. The bright blade illuminated their surroundings and bathed Merrin’s face in a luminescent glow. There was no awe and wonder on her face at the miracle of the weapon, nor at the silent song its crystal hummed beneath her grip. Shadows crossed over her expression as she recalled the memories. 

“I was only a child when they attacked,” she said quietly, observing the weapon. “An armored warrior brandishing  _ this _ descended upon us and cut down my people. My sisters… my life and my love. Until I was left alone with the dead. Then Malicos came and promised me revenge if I shared our secrets with him in return.”

Cal knew that whoever had orchestrated the attack on Dathomir must have done so out of respite, perhaps even pridefulness, but they were no Jedi. And if they were, they were not of the Order Cal knew. Just as Malicos wasn’t. 

Merrin’s past and his own felt similar. 

“I know what it’s like to lose everything,” he said. “And Malicos was wrong to use that against you. We don’t have to be enemies.”

She switched off the weapon and tossed it back to him. “You will need this.”

She disappeared. “There she goes again.”

“I’ll be watching.”

“Let’s get outta here.”

“Malicos lies ahead.” Merrin’s voice traveled through the air like a thread. “You could turn back.”

Cal knew, as much as anyone, that he could heed her words and do as she said. He could return to the Mantis, abandon the mission, and be dropped off on some other planet to continue his life of concealment. He wouldn’t have to continue risking his life in plain sight of the Empire. He wouldn’t have to continue to risk Cere’s and Greez’s life or the lives of innocents of whichever other planet he found himself on, brandishing the distinguishable weapon of a Jedi for the Empire to chase. And, most of all, Cal wouldn’t have to face Trilla again and the terrible reality that he might lose her, too.

But Cal had journeyed too far to go back to a life of obscurity. The Empire would never stop until they got their hands on the holocron, and it was up to Cal to keep those children safe. To prevent them from being hounded like he was. Or tormented into something else, as Trilla was. 

“I can’t,” he said. “Lives are at stake.”

“Whose lives?”

“Innocents. Force-sensitive children who will be hunted down and murdered.”

“As we were.” Her voice was tinged with melancholy.

Merrin was silent after that, a telltale of her grief. Cal thought the Nightsister had left him to his fate, as she had the last time he was on Dathomir, and he was disappointed she would not be by his side. An ally would have been beneficial. 

And, as if reading his mind, a verdant haze of magick provided a path toward Malicos.  _ We don’t have to be enemies,  _ he’d said. His words must have struck something true.

“Cal Kestis,” Malicos said in surprise. 

“Malicos.”

“Welcome home,” he greeted, but there was no warm embrace coated in the words. “Here to begin your training? What in these ruins tempts you so much to risk death?”

Cal’s attention was pulled toward the glow of Merrin’s magick as it appeared ahead, atop a stone column that gave a full view of the platform he and Malicos stood upon. Cal turned his gaze away from it to avoid striking Malicos’ alarm of Merrin’s presence. Allow her to decide if she intervened or not without the former Jedi forcing her hand.

Cal stepped around Malicos. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“There is power there beyond Jedi understanding, power I control. I would offer you the same thing.” 

Cal faced him. “Don’t you understand? I’m not interested in power. I want to restore the Order.”

Malicos looked as if Cal had said something humorous. “Restore the Jedi Order?” he questioned, baffled. “Oh, you poor fool. It’s  _ over _ ! The Jedi fell long before the Purge. We were stifled by tradition, deafened by our past glories, and blinded by endless war.”

Cal understood wherein Malicos was coming from with such talk, but his approach was tainted. “Maybe, but it’s never over, Malicos. We stand here now with a chance to learn, to rebuild from our mistakes.” The words were a reiteration of what his Master had said just moments before. 

“Jedi learn? There’s no future for them,” Malicos said, his voice heavy with irritation. “Why can you not see that? It’s time for something new.”

_ Not like this.  _

“You and me, we could build something different,” he continued. “Something better.”

Cal shook his head. “ _ No _ .”

Malicos leaned back and observed Cal. The promise that had gleamed on his face morphed into a fiery indignation. “Then Dathomir will be your grave,” he snapped, malice dripping from his words.

Malicos extended his hands, and the lightsabers at his side soared into his grip. The twin blades ignited with a violent hiss, red blazes of light emanating from their hilts. Cal took hold of his own weapon and ignited it. Malicos was launching himself toward him in mere seconds, jumping into the air and slamming his weapons down with a confidence that left Cal’s heart racing. Cal opened his awareness to the thrum of the Force around him and gave himself wholly to it, allowing it to guide his movements. He dodged the strike, kicked at his opponent, and struck at the broken defense. 

Malicos managed to miss the end of Cal’s blade by inches and parried his next attack with a new caution. He had underestimated Cal’s ability, and Cal, in turn, had surprised him. He struck at Cal harshly, one blade after another, and his breath caught with each block. Cal returned to defense and bid his time. He waited, surveying Malicos’ hostile attacks and the rising smugness with each one.

Cal held his ground and broke through Malicos’ guard, noting the openings in his guard. Cal gained the upper hand, and Malicos relented. Cal rushed forward for another strike, and he was taken aback to find Malicos’ sabers were no longer in his hands. Baffled, his eyes found Malicos’ and there was a vengeful expression on his face that sent chills down his spine. The former Jedi extended a hand, and Cal was hauled into the air with a sharp gasp. Everything seemed to heighten in alarm.

“I was wrong to think you could stand with me.”

His heart seemed to lodge in his throat as he was launched toward the ground. His back hit stone, hard. The impact knocked the breath out of him, and he gasped for breath. His vision blackened. There was an agonizing, fearful moment where Cal couldn’t move and he was sure something integral had given way in his bones. His entire body felt heavy, as if he were held down by the weight of the planet itself, and he realized it was a trick of Malicos’ doing holding him in place.

Malicos pulled a piece of stone free from a column, and fear coursed through Cal once the intention became clear. Malicos held it over him, and a shadow seemed to pass over the atmosphere around them that left a pit opening in Cal’s stomach. Death was at his doorstep once again. Cal pulled on whatever he could, desperate to pry himself free, but nothing responded to his will. He closed his eyes, waiting for the death that would surely come greet him, and he found himself thinking inexplicably of Trilla.

He was content to die with Trilla being his final tether to this life, and it overtook any pain Malicos could ever inflict on him.

There was the sound of stone breaking apart, and Cal was sure he had met his fate.

“You have no right to Dathomir,” another voice called. “No right to our magick.”

Cal opened his eyes and turned his eyes toward the source of the voice. Merrin stood atop a platform across the one they dueled on. Her green flames of magick shuddered brightly over her palms as she fired them at Malicos. Malicos blocked each as they came and, in a desperate attempt to get the powerful Nightsister off him, he launched one of his blades into the air. The weapon snagged across the stone column she stood on. Merrin’s magick flickered out and she gasped at the tremble in the integrity of the structure beneath her. 

Malicos closed his hand into a fist and the column crumbled. Merrin stumbled for a moment, and Cal couldn’t breathe. He reached his awareness out as quickly as he could, ready to save the Nightsister if need be. But Merrin jumped from the crumbling column and landed on the platform. Her gaze was full of retribution. There was a look on Malicos’ face at the sight of her defying his intended demise, struck at the fact that neither of them would be easy to be rid of.

Especially not together.

Her eyes found Cal’s. “Get up, Cal Kestis,” she demanded. “You’re not dead yet.”

Cal forced himself to his feet, and Merrin disappeared. He wasted no time in getting a quick stim from BD-1 to curb the ache in his back. He called upon the lightsaber that had slipped from his grasp, and it soared away from Malicos’ feet to its rightful place in his hand. The blade Malicos had launched at Merrin was back in his hand. Malicos’ chest heaved in effort and frustration, and Cal stood in defiance with poise.

Malicos must have known that the odds were against him because his attacks became even more belligerent, heavy with desperation. Cal felt more focused than ever before against his opponent, as if he’d been infested with renewed life. The frenzied strategies Malicos resorted to did nothing to shatter Cal’s new enlivened state. The former Jedi hauled stone after stone into the air and hauled it at him. Cal, lost thoroughly to the Force around him, dodged each as they came. He veered beneath the final stone and rose on the other side, striking at Malicos’ with eyes full of fire. 

There was a shout as Cal’s blade met its mark, enough to catch Malicos off balance, and Merrin appeared in a brilliant flash of light. Merrin held her arm out, magick flaming across her fingertips, and vines of magick crawled their way across Malicos’ body. He shouted in protest as he fell to his knees. He tried to resist, but it was a futile attempt. He was pinned in place, completely at the mercy of the one he’d used and manipulated for years. Merrin’s demeanor harbored no mercy or commiseration — only the manner alike to a prisoner unleashing revenge against a tormentor at long last.

“What is this?” he grunted out beneath the effort of his wasteless struggle.

“It’s like you said, Malicos,” Merrin said, her voice full of irreproachable anger. “Dathomir will be your grave.”

Fear glazed over Malicos’ eyes. Merrin turned her palm toward the sky and closed her fist. Malicos’ scream was cut short as he was submerged into stone. She stared at the jutting, ragged stone for a moment before it settled along the rest of the platform. The wisps of Merrin’s magick hovered over it before disappearing. Her breath was ragged, as if in disbelief that she had vanquished the monster at last. She composed herself, but her eyes didn’t stray from the makeshift grave.

Cal approached her. She didn’t turn at his advance, eyes trained solely on where Malicos was resigned to his doom. “Let him lie in the dark with his secrets until death takes him,” she said.

He stood beside her and overlooked the dais. It must be strange for her, he thought, and liberating to be free of Malicos’ lies, but he still didn’t know why she intervened. It would have been easy to let him die. “Why’d you help me?”

“To rid Dathomir of that parasite.” She turned to him, her eyes piercing. “What are you really doing here, Cal Kestis?”

Cal hesitated. He wouldn’t share the details of the mission with just anyone, especially one as vital as this one, but Merrin had risked her life to save his own. He trusted her. 

“The ones who built this tomb, the Zeffo, they created an object called the Astrium,” he explained, gesturing to the ruins around them. “It opens a vault on a distant planet. Inside is a list of Force-sensitive children across the galaxy. But the Empire is looking for it, too.”

Her brows furrowed. “What Empire?”

“ _ The _ Empire?” he suggested. “The one bent on exterminating Force sensitives so no one can stand against it?”

Merrin showed no recollection of such an autocracy, but her lips were pulled into a thin line of distaste. “Then it will come for Dathomir before long… as the war did,” she said. “I will help you find this Astrium.”

The holomap pointed toward the ruins on the other end of the chasm, and a single flicker of Merrin’s magick provided passage to the other side. “Thank you for helping me with Malicos,” he added. “Thought I was a goner for a minute.”

“Yes, you would have died,” Merrin said bluntly. 

He almost stifled a laugh. He couldn’t say she was wrong, but the frankness in the words took him off guard in a rather charming way.  _ Trilla would like her,  _ Cal observed. “Right.”

“I am glad you didn’t,” she simplified. “It is nice to have an ally.”

“Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

“You’re welcome, Cal.”

Cal crossed the dark abyss with ease, thanks to Merrin’s help. “This place,” he remarked. “It’s…”

“Horrifying,” Merrin finished for him, her voice nothing more than a linger in the air.

Cal stepped into the sanguine light that poured from the chamber beyond. He squinted his eyes at the glare and continued his steps inside. The platform stopped abruptly before the scaling structure on the other side, and Cal stopped before it in awe. He felt the shudder of a response, and the stone shuddered and rumbled as it opened. There was a dark orb bathed in blue light that slipped from the stone, stopping at the end of the structure. He could barely believe his eyes. 

Structures of stone rose before him to accommodate the path toward the Astrium, and Cal stepped toward it. There was a moment of hesitance, too taken by his astonishment, where he could only stare at the artifact presented before him. He reached out and took hold of it, firm in his grip, and pulled it into his hands.

He felt Merrin’s presence itching behind him, and he turned toward her. There was a rush of gratefulness in his chest at her company; if it hadn’t been for her aid, Cal wasn’t sure if he would have been able to get the Astrium. “We finally found it,” he breathed.

Merrin seemed just as awestruck as he was. “It  _ is _ real.”

“Merrin, this could be the key to the next generation of Jedi.”

His hands brushed against hers, and even with such a subtle touch, memories rose in response. Images flashed across his vision: swamps, potions, a girl with gentle eyes and a bright smile. There was a rush of aching concern that rushed through him from Merrin’s touch, and he realized it was similar to the way he felt about Trilla.  _ Oh.  _ Something painful pulled at his chest as he realized the full magnitude of her loss. It wasn’t just family — it was a lover, too. 

Or, more specifically, the potential of one.

_ My life and my love _ , she’d said.

_ Of course _ , Cal realized. 

And then, there was the war that had shown up at their door, unannounced and uninvited. Shouts and screams echoed around him, flashes of blue and green blades flashing across his vision, and... Merrin. Cal had fallen into the memory before he could prevent it. 

_ Merrin, clutching the limp body of a girl in her arms, with tears streaking her cheeks and sobbing out a name he would never forget. _

_ Ilyana. _

_ The loss felt visceral, worse than death itself. It carved a hollow within her, a void that felt as if it would never be filled again. The emptiness felt like it would grow as her grief continued, as if it would swallow her whole until there was nothing but everything she had lost. _

_ Death surrounded her. Dathomir was eerily quiet in the aftermath of the attack, but the stench of death was thick in her lungs and the press of it was implacable. If there were survivors, besides herself, she did not know of them. She was alone, left to bury her sisters. And Ilyana. _

_ Merrin’s hand grazed across the cold metal of the necklace that hung from her neck. She’d unhooked it from Ilyana before burying her — a piece of her to carry with her until she found her in the next life to resume the life they’d been robbed of. Until then, she’d hold this one piece of her close.  _

_ The hope of their future laid out together died with Ilyana. And with her and the rest of her sisters, something in Merrin died, too. She laid it to rest with them.  _

He gasped.

“What is it?” she asked.

Cal removed his hands, leaving the Astrium in her hands. “I-I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s only my psychometry. I can… see things through touch… I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You saw something, then,” she observed. She glanced away. “What was it?”

He paused, unsure of what he should say next. He knew it was a source of heartache, but he felt Merrin would see through any white lie he offered. “A girl,” he admitted, settling on the truth.

Her lips twitched up, nearly a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Ilyana. Another story… for another time.” She took a breath. “I’m happy for you and your Jedi,” she said sadly, “but nothing can bring back my people… nor Ilyana.” 

Merrin held the Astrium back toward him, and Cal took it in silence.

She walked away.

_ Horrifying,  _ she’d called this place.

Cal recognized himself in Merrin. He’d been forced into hiding by his own terrible circumstances. He lived on Bracca for years, picking at the dead bones of his former life. Merrin lived among the dead, and Cal couldn’t say he misunderstood that sentiment. His years on Bracca had felt like moving among the ghosts of his past. And, just like Prauf had once told him, Cal wouldn’t want Merrin to stay among them when there was more in the galaxy for her to experience.

Cal didn’t have much to offer, but he would offer what he could.

“Right after the Purge,” he said suddenly, “I was alone for a… long time… in hiding.” Merrin stopped before him, but didn’t turn. He took it as acknowledgement to continue. “I was scared that they’d find out who I was or… or what I was.”

She turned her head toward him, her back still to him. “What changed?”

He fumbled with the Astrium in his hand, and the full vastness of his journey set in. He wondered what Prauf would say if he could see him now… doing exactly as he’d wished. Cal had honored Prauf’s wish for him, though it hadn’t exactly unraveled in the way he probably would have imagined. All Prauf had wanted was for Cal to get off the wasteland that Bracca was and make a worthwhile life for himself somewhere else, and he had. It was a dangerous life, but it was one lined with destiny and purpose. Cal allowed a moment of mourning for his best friend, one that had cared for him as if he were family, and he made a silent vow to honor his wish further. 

“A very good friend of mine told me to go out... and find my place in the galaxy,” Cal said. He smiled at the memory. It felt so long ago now.

Cal wished the Abednedo was still around. Trilla had cut his life short before it could go on any further, and there was a sting of bitterness at the thought. Even after everything she had done to hurt him, Cal still believed she was redeemable. And he knew, deep down, that Prauf would, too. Ultimately, it was Prauf himself that had shown him such kindness and compassion in their new, cruel galaxy. He would understand, feasibly most of all, besides Cere.

“And you listened?” Merrin inquired.

Cal nearly laughed. He still remembered the horror he felt when Prauf had suggested it, and even though the idea had been desirable, it had felt a million light years out of his reach. The Force surely worked in mysterious ways to bring him all this way. “Well, no…” he replied. “But… life has this funny way of forcing you on the path forward anyway. Now here I am… where I least expected.”

She turned to look at him, eyes shining. “A path forward…” she echoed. She considered the words before she walked toward him and faced him. “I will join you.”

He let out a surprised breath. “You will?”

But the resolution in her eyes was unmistakable. It pained him to see. Merrin had thought the Jedi to be harbingers of destruction and death because of what she’d lived through. She had been his enemy and nearly killed him. And Trilla herself had grown to think of the Jedi in the same light after Cere’s betrayal. Both Merrin and Trilla had been taught to see the Jedi one way only to have their belief challenged by Cal himself.

And now, Merrin was on his side.

Cal desperately wanted to have Trilla on his side, too. To let go of the hate she clinged to. To begin the mending of her relationship with Cere.

If Merrin could switch her stance, after everything she’d endured, couldn’t Trilla?

“I've spent years... waiting for a chance to avenge my sisters. I'm finished waiting. I wish to fight by your side. Nightsisters and Jedi do not travel together, but…” She smiled. “Survivors. We adapt.”

“Yeah, I guess we do. What do you think, BD?”

BD-1 whooped enthusiastically. 

Cal smiled. “I agree.”

He offered his hand and she shook it, careful to curl her fingers around the glove and not his bare skin. It was a small, deliberate movement to avoid alerting his psychometry, but he appreciated it all the same. He would rather hear the words from her when the time was right.

“My crew,” he said. “They might take a little bit of convincing, though.”

She raised a brow, a smirk playing across her lips. “Then we'll convince them.”

BD-1 trilled in excitement. 

“Cal?”

“Hm?”

Her voice was almost hushed. “You seem… sadder than before.”

The words shuddered right through him, embedding themselves in his heart. The weight of them made him feel breathless, but he still feigned ignorance. “When you were trying to kill me?” he said, an attempt at amusement, but his voice was far too shaky. 

She shrugged. “I’m observant.” Her eyes still lingered with question. 

He paused. “It’s complicated,” he said, which was true enough. 

“I know complicated.”

He shook his head. “Not this kind of complicated.” 

Merrin seemed to understand the hesitance. After all, she’d endured things that were difficult to speak of as well. “Whatever you say, Cal Kestis,” she said, and her lips held the ghost of a smile. 

She turned on her heel and disappeared. Merrin didn’t make a reappearance until he traveled further through the ruins. She nearly startled him by her return, but she didn’t seem to notice. He let out a breath of relief. He was seriously going to have to get used to her use of power.

“This woman you travel with… who is she?”

“Cere? Wait, how do you know about her?”

“I have seen your companions,” Merrin admitted. “Malicos wanted me to attack them, but they posed no threat.”

“Cere, um…” Cal wasn’t sure where to even begin telling such a story. Cere was many things: former Jedi, Master, friend. And something else, he supposed — something more complex that involved his own involvement with Trilla. “Well, she used to be a Jedi. It's a long story.”

“I would like to learn it.” She paused. “Does she have something to do with your… feelings?”

“Something like that.”

“I do not know much about Jedi,” Merrin admitted truthfully, “but isn’t there a rule about Jedi and their Masters?”

Cal started. His eyes widened, and he could feel the flush rising to his cheeks from his embarrassment. “ _ Nothing  _ like that, Merrin,” he said. “It’s not like that.” 

“Oh, I just thought—”

He stifled a nervous chuckle. “No, definitely not,” Cal clarified. 

Merrin nodded and she offered him a shrug. “Well, I definitely need to know about this other  _ complicated  _ story you speak of, too. I'll meet you at your ship.”

Merrin disappeared once again.

Cal pulled the Astrium free from where he’d safely strapped it to his side. BD-1 beeped in question, and he shook his head. “Just can’t believe we finally have it,” he answered. He ran his thumb across it. “That’s all.” 

That’s when Cal felt it, the tension in his bond with Trilla pressing into him, and his heart sank. He couldn’t breathe. She appeared a distance away from him. 

Memories washed over him. 

The sight of her left him reeling. She was as alluring as she’d always been, even with the fresh bruising that littered along her jaw. Her breath trembled. She held his gaze, but he couldn’t read anything in her eyes. He, however, hid nothing from his face. Let her see how he felt, let her see his concern if they were going to return to being enemies. 

Trilla glanced down at the Astrium in his hand. He followed her gaze, as if he couldn’t believe it was still in his hands, but there it was. His eyes met hers again, and he realized his mistake. He clenched his jaw. He waited for her to say something, but she pressed something beside her.

Before she disappeared from his sight, Cal saw the quiver of emotion on her face.

But it was final.

She knew where he was going. 

+

Bogano was a breath of fresh air after Dathomir, and Cal was struck by the swift change in the atmosphere around him. Cere and Greez had taken well to Merrin joining the crew, though they’d shown hesitance at first. Greez had been spooked enough by Dathomir in the safety of the Mantis, and having a Nightsister on board seemed to be a source of unease to the Latero, but Cal assumed the caution would settle eventually. Merrin had poked fun at Greez, clearly delighting in his nervousness, which had broken some of the ice. BD-1 seemed to enjoy the presence of another crew member, but it did show disappointment that Merrin couldn’t understand its dialect.

All had gone smoothly in inviting Merrin onboard the Mantis, but Cal had noticed a flicker in Cere’s eyes once he’d explained what Merrin had done for him. He was certain that Merrin’s transition in allegiances had brought about the memory of someone else. Someone that, she too, wanted on their side.

But he felt it as well as Cere did: an absence on the Mantis where Trilla should be. 

Cal eyed Cere as she overlooked Bogano. He moved toward her when another voice cut through his focus. “Hey! Uh, wait up!” Greez called after him. “I know you're about to get that holo--” He stopped in thought. “--cron.

Cal stopped before the Latero. “Nice! You remembered.” He cocked his head to the side in a playful manner. ”You joining me?”

“Oh, no. No. Absolutely not. No. I just wanted to say, you know, those... those kids we're supposed to find… They're lucky to have you.”

“They're lucky to have  _ us, _ ” Cal clarified. “We're in this together, Greez.”

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping you'd say that, because, you know… They're gonna need more than fancy magic tricks.”

Cal raised a brow. “Oh, yeah?”

Greez shrugged. “Practical guidance, role model, someone to look up to… You know ship flying is a complicated art. But, that's only if I stick around.”

“I'll remember that. Speaking of, you’ll have to teach me someday.”

Greez blanched. “Not on the Mantis,” he opposed. “Over my dead body.”

Cal sighed dramatically and attempted to hold back the laugh that threatened to bubble out of him. “I’m sure Merrin can arrange that.” Greez looked up at him in horror, and Cal patted him on the back with a laugh. “I’m kidding, Greez.”

He shook his head at Cal’s playfulness, but there was a smile twitching at his lips. “Right, right,” he huffed.

Cal looked over his companions: Greez, beside him, Cere working on something at the hull of the ship, and newly, Merrin, knelt down on the ground with her eyes closed and her palms pressed into the grass beneath. Many things had changed since Bracca, and for the first time, Cal found himself wishing he hadn’t been blindsided by a mission so soon after joining the crew. He hadn’t had as much time as he hoped to get to know them, but getting the holocron was the first priority. Whatever happened, he was grateful he had people by his side. He would be looking forward to learning more about them when everything settled.

Cal crossed his arms over his chest. “Funny to have this thing end where it started.”

“Oh, yeah.” Greez nodded. “I remember our first visit here. I've said it before. I really didn't think you were--”

“A Jedi?”

“Jedi or not, I just didn't think you were the guy.”

Cal couldn’t say he was surprised by the comment. Even as a Padawan under Master Tapal’s guidance, he had had a sheepishness to him that caused many to underestimate his abilities, including himself. He supposed that five years of running had highlighted it until he joined the Mantis crew.

“And now?”

“Now?” Greez was silent for a moment. “Jedi or not, you are. Look, I still don't quite get the whole Force stuff… but what I do know is that you are one tough kid.”

“Thanks. So are you.”

Cal glanced toward Merrin as she stood, and Greez followed his line of sight.

“Is it true?” Greez asked. “That her home was infiltrated?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes,” he replied. “Grief is an old friend to us all.”

Greez fell silent beside him. Cal gently patted the Latero’s shoulder in farewell and approached Merrin.

Cal stopped beside her. “There's something weird about this place,” Merrin commented. “The energy is different here.

“Yeah, it's different than Dathomir.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Dathomir is intricate. Its ancient power emanates from the shadows. Bogano feels more simplistic, and yet… I can't figure it out.”

“Bogano is special. There's a reason the Zeffo built their Vault here.”

Her gaze shifted toward the Vault in the distance. “Where your holocron waits…” she said. “Hidden.”

“What are you getting at?”

“This planet has remained nearly untouched for centuries,” she explained. “Were the lives you seek to protect really in danger before you intervened?”

Merrin’s questions were making him second-guess whether this was truly the right decision or not. He thought about her words aboard the Mantis before they’d entered Bogano’s atmosphere:  _ Are you sure it’s something you should find? The children on that list… if you take them from their homes to train as Jedi… won’t they be hunted like you? _ And the look on her face -- he barely knew the Nightsister, but he knew a look of disapproval when he saw one. Her points were important to consider, but they would focus on that conversation another time. Right now, all that mattered was getting the holocron before the Empire did.

He still said, “The Jedi we train will help build a galaxy that respects and preserves special places like this one.”

“And that is their choice or yours?”

Cal sighed. “We need each other to survive. Without the Jedi, I don't know if we can,” he explained. “We have a responsibility to protect them.”

“So you’ve said.”

Merrin didn’t seem satisfied with his response, and Cal couldn’t blame her. They both knew what it was to be pursued and preyed upon, outnumbered. To potentially put other children in harm’s way brought about uncomfortable discussions that would need to be dissected once they got what they needed.

“We’re definitely not on Dathomir anymore.”

She smiled slightly at him. “No, we are not.”

“Is it how you imagined?” he asked. “The rest of the galaxy, I mean.”

“It is so vast,” Merrin replied. “I see now my life on Dathomir was… Limited.”

Her words settled over him, and it reminded him of Trilla. 

“I felt the same way about leaving Bracca. The world can seem small when you're trapped by the past.”

Merrin hummed gently and nodded at him. “I think I will like my time aboard the Mantis,” she said. “About what you… saw… with your gift, you have felt something like it?”

Cal sucked in a breath. “Yes. Something like that. How did you know?”

“It’s easy to see once you have seen it for yourself. May I ask?”

He blinked. “She’s still out there, but… she’s in trouble.”

“The complicated story you mentioned?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“Aren’t you going to ask what kind of trouble she’s in?”

“Trouble is trouble. Specifics aren’t necessary.” She met his eyes. “I will tell you this. If Ilyana were still here, I wouldn’t stop at anything to save her. Even if it meant dying for it.”

“Can I ask why?”

Merrin was silent for a moment, and she gazed across Bogano’s terrain in thought. “If I am to live without her, I live with the truth that I had done everything in my power to save her,” she said. “It is the only way I can survive, and I imagine it’s the same for you.” Her eyes were full of sympathy. “But Cal… you still have a chance.”

_ It’s not too late. _

Cal sighed. “I don’t think it’s up to me.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she reasoned. “It was not up to me, either. I still fought for Ilyana until the end, as should you, for whoever she may be.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Merrin.”

Cere had stepped closer toward them, close enough to garner attention, but not enough to overhear. “Cal, got a second?” she called.

Cal waved at her in acknowledgement, and Cere waited. He turned his attention back to Merrin. She smiled at him. “I’d still like to know the story someday.”

He smiled. “I hope you do,” he said. “I’d like to learn yours, too… and I’m sorry that you lost Ilyana. You did not deserve that.”

“She’s not gone. She’s still with me in many ways. I shall meet her again.” She smiled. “This life is a simple passageway into the next. I’d like to think she’s waiting for me, wherever she may be, and I’d like to think it’s that way for everyone who’s lost someone, one way or another.”

Something about the words hit him hard. “I’d like to think that, too.”

Merrin grasped his shoulder before he could leave. “One more thing. Whatever happens, Cal, I’ll be here,” she said. “But I’m hoping you succeed where I did not.”

He nodded. He grasped her shoulder in reassurance.

“Best of luck to you and your droid,” she said. BD-1 trilled happily at the mention, and Merrin laughed. “I still do not understand what you’re saying.”

BD-1 whooped sadly as Cal stepped away.

“You've been through a lot to get here,” Cere said. “But the Vault is still an unknown.”

“Cordova put the holocron inside. That's what's important,” he said. “I have to get it.”

Cere pursed her lips. “Cordova built danger into this test to protect it.”

“You're worried about me,” he noted in amusement.

Cere’s face was stern. “I don't want to train all those younglings alone.”

“I'll be fine, Cere,” he assured. “Plus, I've got BD with me.”

BD-1 sounded behind him, offering its own support for Cal’s claim. 

“I know.” She sighed. “Just be careful.”

“What is it?”

She waved a hand. “It’s nothing.”

He wasn’t convinced. “Cere…”

She sighed and shook her head. Her eyes closed. “I know you’ve been on this journey alone with BD most of the time, but…” she said, opening her eyes to look at him, “I can’t help the worry now. This might be unlike anything you two have faced before. And the last time I left two people alone…”

The specificity in her words warranted a question, but he wouldn’t press her for details. Whatever had happened was a great source of pain for her, and Cal had already done enough at wounding Cere with his own misunderstandings. As with Merrin, he would wait until Cere was ready to tell him.

He suspected he had a lot to learn from them both.

Cal took hold of her arm reassuringly. “Hey, we’ll be okay.” His voice was soft. “No matter what happens there, we’ll come out. It’s what we do. We're ready. The both of us.”

_ Beep boop. _

Cere nodded. “I know, just… take care of each other.”

Cal let his arm fall to his side. “Are you ready for what comes next?”

“Yes… and so are you,” she said. “I've seen it. You've learned a lot from all this, Cal.”

Cal smiled at her. “And from you.”

“That's kind of you to say, Cal, but... I won't be in the Vault with you.”

“Yeah, you will.” He shrugged. ”Just in a different way.”

Cere smiled at him. “I'm glad we found you, Cal. Good luck in there. And remember… think before you react. I suspect Cordova left behind a test not just anyone could solve. May the Force be with you.”

Cal offered her one final smile before turning on his heel and heading toward the scaling structure in the distance. He felt the pull toward it the closer he ventured, like steady thrum. It wasn’t until he’d started climbing the steep hill at the base of the Vault that he realized the pressure was coming from the Astrium strapped to his side.

“I'm sensing something weird,” he commented to BD-1, who immediately inquired what he meant. “This is gonna sound strange, but… I think it's the Astrium. The closer we get to the Vault, the stronger it feels.”

BD-1 whistled.

Cal chuckled. “Careful, buddy. We still don't know how this thing works.” 

The Vault’s entrance looked the same as it had the first time he’d encountered it, but it still felt bizarre to be back where his journey had commenced in some aspect. Bracca was where he had been forced out of hiding and thrust into a new life, but Bogano… this Vault… it was where his life had seemed to align with something far greater than himself. And a part of Cal, a subconscious part, believed that his voyage of transformation would not end here, even with the Astrium — the direct evidence that it should — flowing with energy at his side.

Cal pressed himself through the small crevice. “Here we go, BD.”

On the other side, Cal’s boots lapped at the water that drenched the Vault floor. A chill crawled up his spine, sending goosebumps across his skin.  _ Think before you react. I suspect Cordova left behind a test not just anyone could solve.  _ What, exactly, would he face here?

It wasn’t settling his nerves that Trilla must know where he was, but he shoved the thought away before it could paralyze him.

Sunlight poured through the opening above, warming his skin, and chasing away the gooseflesh that had risen. He stopped at the center of the Vault where the ground was inscribed with runes and an opening for the Astrium. He took hold of the Astrium at his side, feeling the signature of its powerful pulse in his hand, and knelt down before it. Water seeped at his knee, but he paid no mind to it. He let the Astrium slip into its intended place at the base of the Vault.

There was a shudder beneath his feet as the Vault responded to the Astrium’s placement. Cal looked up to see overhead structures scaling across the roofed opening in intervals. The Vault wall moved next, revealing the interior that resembled a darkened mirror. A strange assurance settled over him at the sight of it. BD-1 whooped in wonder. 

“Amazing…” Cal echoed. “The Vault itself is built like a giant holocron. They're linked. Something about that wall…”

BD-1 chirped. 

“We're close,” Cal said. “Let's check it out.”

Cal walked toward the Vault wall carefully. He raised his hand. With one final glance at BD-1 behind him, he pressed his hand against the wall.

_ His surroundings shifted around him from one moment to the next, and Cal found himself in a raised, barren landscape. Large figures surrounded the ledge that led to another at the very end.  _ The Zeffo,  _ he recognized. _

_ Cal approached. _

_ “I offer this record of our civilization to those who will follow,” a Zeffo spoke. “Despite our wisdom and technological achievement, we face extinction. Dogma blinded us to the path of balance. And gradually we allowed our pride to corrupt us. The greater control we sought, the further we fell into ruin. I lead the remnants of my people into the great unknown… hoping that we will finally find peace.” _

_ The holocron appeared.  _

_ Cal’s figure slipped out before him to reach toward the artifact, and he watched himself in silent bafflement. A group of younglings appeared around him. “I shall teach them the ways of the Force,” his figure called. “We shall begin with physical preparation.” _

_ “What is the Force?” a youngling asked. _

_ “Gather 'round, everyone,” his figure encouraged. _

_ Cal’s eyes lingered around the group of younglings and himself. Wasn’t this the ultimate goal? To track down the Force-sensitive children whose lives were in danger to preserve the little that was left of the Order? He had an overwhelming feeling that the Force would show him something he didn’t want to see. _

_ Just like it had done on Dathomir.  _

_ But Dathomir had been necessary — perhaps this would be, too.  _

_ He pressed forward. _

_ And then the vision changed. _

_ He was crawling through trenches, blaster fire echoing around him, and younglings running for their lives.  _

_ “It's the Empire!” one called. _

_ “The Inquisitors have found us!” another yelled.  _

_ “Master, shall we fight them?!” _

_ “They're coming!” _

_ “To the trenches!” _

_ “Keep going!” _

_ “Protect yourself!” _

_ Cal could feel the adrenaline and fear heavy in the air around him as he pressed forward. His heart raced at the sound of blaster fire loud in his ears, the shuffle of running feet all around him, the screams of the innocent begging for mercy. His stomach turned over violently.  _

_ He stepped into an empty space, and a horde of stormtroopers appeared around him. “Capture the younglings,” they ordered. “Kill the rest.” _

_ Cal’s heart sank. _

_ He turned in a circle around the stormtroopers line of fire. And then, suddenly, a youngling appeared wielding a lightsaber. Their face was etched with determination in the face of their demise as they sliced through a stormtrooper with a desperate battle cry.  _

_ “They're back!” a stormtrooper yelled to their comrades. “Keep firing!” _

_ Cal flinched as blaster fire erupted around him. The stormtroopers’ fire hung loosely in the air toward the youngling boy. He remembered Master Tapal’s sacrifice, how much fire he’d taken for Cal… This mass rate of fire on the child’s body would be certain death. He pursed his lips and swallowed, fighting back the burn in his eyes. This was too much like that day all those years ago…  _

_ Would helping the Force-sensitive children on that list put them all in unnecessary danger and leave the Empire on their tail for the rest of their lives, like Merrin said? Would it be inevitable for the Empire to catch up to them? To annihilate them mercilessly as they attempted to do to him — as they succeeded to do with countless others? _

_ Cal kept going. _

_ A youngling appeared before him, perched silently behind something for cover. Stormtroopers appeared ahead of the child, closing in on their position. The child shut his eyes tightly, his breath shaky with uncertainty, and didn’t dare to move. _

_ “Keep searching,” a stormtrooper said, their weapon raised and ready. “They can't have gone far.” _

_ And then— _

_ “Target sighted!” a stormtrooper shouted. _

_ The boy started, turning in alarm at the approaching stormtroopers. “Help me, Master Kestis!” he yelled. _

_ “Moving in!” the stormtrooper yelled.  _

_ Cal pressed forward, and one by one, he watched the younglings getting hunted down like animals. He could do nothing but watch as each scene played out. There were children hiding together, hands clasped, and insisting that Master Kestis would protect them, like he promised. And then, stormtroopers advanced on them like faceless monsters in their darkest nightmares. The troops tore them away from each other, kicking and screaming, and if one dared to resist, to fight back— _

_ Blaster fire echoed through the air.  _

_ The others screamed in horror, shouting the name of the person crumpled lifelessly on the ground, until they’re shoved down into the dirt. The stormtroopers snapped at them to shut up, their weapons waving carelessly in their faces, as the children shove back against the choking sobs slipping past their restraint. “There’s more of them!” a stormtrooper called, and a handful rushed toward the call of alarm.  _

_ “Where’s your precious Master now?” a stormtrooper taunted the helpless children. “Jedi scum.” _

_ Cal pressed forward. The holocron loomed again, and he reached for it, desperate to finally escape the nightmare he seemed trapped in. Instead, Trilla appeared before him and his insides ran cold. She ignited her lightsaber, illuminating her in a red glow in the darkness, and he was struck that she was wearing her mask. “Cal Kestis,” she greeted coldly. _

_ He didn’t reply. He merely stared at her, a low hunger rising inside of him at the sight of her that startled him. And then, Cal was watching the captivating scene from afar. Bodies lay strewn around them, but blaster fire still echoed in the distance. It was clear that he would not win this fight.  _

_ “Surrender now and we may spare the youngest,” she continued, her voice low. _

_ Cal knelt before the Second Sister without question. “That’s right,” she said, pleased and powerful. “On your knees.” _

_ Trilla switched off her lightsaber and clipped it to her side. She approached Cal’s figure slowly, in complete confidence of where his allegiances now lied. She reached up to her mask, the helmet eliciting a sharp hiss as it sprung open, and she took it off. Trilla looked down at him with eyes gleaming in darkness, but his figure had his eyes glued to the ground beneath him. She let her mask fall with a thud to the ground. _

_ Her leather-gloved hand pressed underneath his chin to lift his gaze to hers, and a leather-clad finger brushed over his lips. “Smart choice, Jedi,” she taunted. She took a moment to look down at him, the submissive stance he offered, the defeat bright in his eyes, and opportunity blazed in her face. _

_ She grasped his collar before he could say anything and lifted him to his feet, her lips hard against his. Cal watched, frozen, as his other self responded with fervor. His hands grasped her hips, and his lips met the passionate pace of her own against his. He blinked, once, twice, and then his former self looked far different. His clothing was long disposed of, replaced instead with an Inquisitor outfit that matched Trilla’s, and Cal couldn’t breathe. The other Cal — this Inquisitor version of him — kissed Trilla with reckless abandon, worlds more eagerly than he previously had. Cal could sense the all-consuming power and desire in him, in her, between them both, and his heart sank. _

_ Was this truly the only way he could ever be with Trilla? If he sacrificed and lost everything? He shuddered at the thought. _

_ The two stopped and turned their gaze toward him. His gaze held the one of his other self, and the look seemed to pierce into his very soul. He was pulled into eyes of dark desire, of pain and suffering bled through bone, of every nightmare ever conceived brought to life. Suddenly, he was the one in Trilla’s arms. Her lips brushed over his. _

_ “What’re we going to do with you, little Jedi?” _

_ Annoyance rippled in his chest and something else — something like disdain. “Don’t call me that.” _

_ She smiled maliciously at him. “Don’t you worry, I’ll have other names for you to enjoy,  _ pet _.” _

_ As she leaned in for another eager kiss, they were tumbling into darkness.  _

_ Cal’s surroundings were completely different. Obsidian walls and red accents lined the space around him, alike to an Imperial Refinery, but… darker. Anguish seemed to echo off the walls. _

_ Before him, a group of younglings were trapped in a prison cell. They were huddled together, speaking in hushed voices. One youngling looked up at him with teary eyes and asked, “Master Kestis, why?” _

_ Cal looked down, and horror seized him as he took in an Inquisitor’s uniform. He stumbled away from the cell, the pleading voices of the younglings reaching out to him as he ran down the hallway. He needed to get out.  _

_ A cell appeared before him out of thin air and he stumbled to an abrupt stop before it. His breath shook. There was a youngling being tortured in a strange contraption. The boy was sobbing and screaming underneath the pain. And Cal could feel the abhorrent satisfaction his other self seemed to feel at the sight. _

No _. _

_ Cal managed to fall back from the sight, and then the world went dark. He clawed at the ground beneath him, crawling away from whatever awaited him in the depths of the darkness surrounding him. He felt the Force signature of another in his presence, and the familiar brush of it left the breath in his lungs escaping him.  _

_ A laugh echoed in the darkness.  _

_ His only awareness in the pitch black darkness is the breath in his lungs, in and out, nearly heaving, until it stills as this Inquisitor version of himself took control. His hand closed around the lightsaber at his side. He stood to his feet, and the stance was overtaken by confidence and anticipation. He ignited the weapon, a vicious red glow, and Trilla was racing toward him. He attempted to step back from the strike of her lightsaber, firm and deadly in her grip, but his body didn’t respond. _

_ Instead, he blocked her strike.  _

_ Trilla turned on him as she regained her balance, and Cal faced her. She swung her saber around in delight and paced around him. She offered a smile that made his uniform feel suddenly too constraining along his skin. “You’re improving. I must say, I’m impressed,” she said with a shrug, “especially for a Jedi.” _

_ He felt his flattery drowned away by the comment. He growled and lunged for her again. She smirked to meet his strike.  _

_ When he made contact with her weapon, the vision changed and he pushed Trilla into a wall. She grunted in surprise, but she smiled. “Didn’t think you had it in you. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, little Jedi?” _

_ He snarled, “I told you not to call me that.” _

_ She clicked her tongue. “And what are you going to do about it?” _

_ His nose scrunched up. “I’ll make you shut up,” he snapped.  _

_ “And how, exactly, are you going—?” _

_ But he cut her off, pressing his lips hard against hers. Suddenly, a firm pressure is pushed against his abdomen and Cal is thrown off balance. His back slammed into the wall, and he gasped for breath in surprise at the aggressiveness in Trilla’s touch. He glanced down between them to see the hilt of her lightsaber pressed against his stomach, her finger splayed across the ignition. Her face is close to his when he looked back up at her, her breath fanning across his face.  _

_ “You should know better than to interrupt me, but I’ll let it slide for the boldness. I didn’t know you had that either,” she said. She leaned in, her lips brushing over his, and his heart raced. “I wonder what else harbors beneath that pretty face of yours that I don’t know about…”  _

_ “Why don’t you find out?” Cal challenged. _

_ Her eyes were dark. “Oh, I will,” she said. She pressed the hilt of the lightsaber harder against his stomach. He gasped in surprise — and fear. “Just remember who holds the power here.”  _

_ He swallowed. _

_ She tilted her head to one side. “Understand?” _

_ “Yes,” he breathed out. _

_ “Good.” _

_ And she kissed him, hard. Nearly immediately, Trilla opened his mouth with her own, swiping her tongue across his lower lip. He hummed in encouragement and she refrained, delighting in the way he chased after her desperately and pressing the hilt of the saber harder into his skin in warning. This is what Trilla always did, he would learn soon enough, that left him begging. She teased him, watching him squirm underneath her control, and adored it. She smiled at him, that venomous smile of hers that he never grew tired of, and he wasn’t sure how this was going to go. _

_ She was not opposed to him begging — she seemed to prefer it — but it didn’t seem like she was much in the mood to deny him so much today.  _

_ Trilla closed the space between them again and responded to him, dipping her tongue into his mouth. He inhaled sharply, his hand coming up to cup the nape of her neck, but he didn’t press into the kiss. He knew better than that, and the threatening press of Trilla’s saber against his body didn’t make him think twice. _

_ Trilla’s free hand trailed across his stomach down to his hip, tracing gentle circles against his skin that left pressure building in his groin, until she reached down further and palmed him. He groaned into her open mouth. She chuckled against his lips and pulled away from him. There was a look in her eye that he seemed to recognize as she pushed away from him, and he fumbled to remove his clothing with her. He barely managed to take his torso armor off when she pressed her lips against his again, her hands pulling impatiently at the fabric of his shirt. _

_ And then she was pushing him somewhere else. Toward another destination where he knew he was going to end up held down on his back, whispering obscene profanities, with Trilla above him. With the cold, metal press of her lightsaber against his bare skin, his mortality thrown in the balance between them. _

_ As his figure moved in tandem with her, the vision changed. _

_ Cal still felt the ghost of Trilla’s touch across his skin as he walked down the hallway. There was a rigid, unforgiving way in which he carried himself. It was seen in the silent language of his body, but he felt it too: the rousing stir in his blood for carnage, for violence, for the unremitting ferocity of Trilla’s touch.  _

_ He walked closer and closer to the end of the hall. He stopped before it and pressed a hand against the wall. The darkness bled away to reveal himself. On Bogano. As if he were looking into a mirror. _

_ Something deep inside of him recoiled from it, from the darkness presented to him and every inkling of enjoyment with it, and Cal brought his hand back. A shout escaped him and he slammed his hand against the mirror. The glass shattered underneath the impact.  _

Cal stepped away from the shattered wall. He looked down at his hands, at the water lapping at his shoes, to reorient himself with where he was. His hand stung, trickling blood, where he’d scraped it against broken shards. He glanced back up.  _ What was that?  _ he wondered.  _ And why did it show me something so real?  _

His heart raced. He turned, hands trembling, and found the holocron floating for him to take. Whatever he had been shown had felt like his deepest desires woven into a nightmare: training younglings ending in tragedy, a future with Trilla morphed into a terror, a promise of a life cut short and turned on itself. It had been everything he wanted burned through with misery. And another thing, a potential for power unlike he’d ever known -- a power he had refused. Had that been the test?

Cal reached for the holocron and stopped as another sound sliced through the air. His heart dropped. He closed his eyes at the sound of a lightsaber igniting, and his hand found his weapon at his side. He was taken aback that he hadn’t taken notice of her presence. Were they so intertwined that it didn’t strike his alarm anymore? He pushed the thought away and forced himself to face her. 

It nearly took the breath out of him to see her again. Her jaw was blemished harshly, and there was a stark line of bruised skin that peeked from the collar of her uniform. He still forced out, bitterly, “I had a bad feeling I'd see you here.”

“Oh? How uncharacteristically prescient of you,” Trilla shot back. Her voice was void of the gentleness he had heard the previous night. “Here I thought your greatest virtue was your dogged persistence as you stumbled from one debacle to the next.”

Cal stalled at her coldness. Was she really going to pretend nothing happened between them? “Guess you made a mistake not killing me on Bracca, then.”

“A scant mercy,” she objected. She stalked before him with a nearly imperceptible limp in her step, as if she were in pain. “I wagered one meaningless Padawan against a prize… that will win me the Emperor's favor.”

_ Meaningless? _

He searched her eyes for any inkling of what he’d felt the night before, but Trilla was impenetrable. It worried him to see her this way. “Do you think I'm gonna let you walk away with the holocron?”

“Of course not. We  _ both _ have our pride,” she observed, “but yours has cost you the lives of all the Force-sensitive children on that list… as well as your own.”

Cal’s eyes hardened.  _ Fine, I’ll play your game.  _ He ignited his lightsaber and held a position ready for a fight. “Like you said, Trilla…” he said. “I'm persistent.”

He hoped that Trilla understood the double meaning in the words. Persistent in keeping the holocron out of the Empire’s hands, yes, but persistent in bringing her back, too. Cal refused to leave her to this fate, and he would fight it, even if it had to be direct.

Trilla held her blade in defense and the exhilarated smirk that had once graced her face before a fight was long gone. She was stripped down to pure concentration, refined to a single target. Cal moved around her, light on his feet, and she only followed his lead. Their eyes followed the other, aware of their each step, each movement, each breath. Taking her in was alike to taking in a beast before it launched a ruthless attack.

Trilla moved first, so quickly that he would have missed the movement had he not been so focused, and Cal blocked the strike. The force in it was so violent that it caught him off balance, and he stumbled. She yelled and struck again, and he barely parried the attack in time. He glimpsed her face between the clash of their weapons, and it sent shivers up his spine. She was spitfire, a blaze of torment and affliction incarnate.

The precision Cal had grown accustomed to when he fought her had been abandoned, replaced instead with frenzy. Her mind and carefulness was as spun as her blade. But her pugnacious attacks weren’t to be underestimated. 

Trilla lost herself to her blade, blinded completely by her task, and she fought against him as if he were any other Jedi. Her weapon always moved with the intent to strike true, but Cal held his own well. He’d gotten to be a better fighter since he’d last fought her.

Their blades clashed together. She hissed, a sound steeped in pain, and by the tremble in her arms, he knew she was. What had she been subject to since he’d seen her last? “Are you not going to say anything?!” he yelled.

Trilla glowered. “There’s nothing to be said!”

“Are you going to pretend you don’t feel it?” he pressed on. “This thing between us?”

She screamed and pushed back against him. She spun her weapon in a brilliant blur of light and attacked again, unforgiving. Cal dodged away, water splattering across his pants at the maneuver. Her head snapped toward his.

“Trilla, you can’t hide the way you feel anymore than I can,” he reasoned. “Please… you don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do!” she yelled back and sprinted toward him. 

He parried the next attack.

He struck out. The woman he’d fought before would have never allowed a blade to strike so close, but then again, she was not the same woman she’d been before. Cal could see how she had changed, even if she couldn’t see it for herself. 

“Trilla, this only ends one way.”

“Yes,” she said, “with you  _ dead _ .”

“I know that’s not what you want.”   
  
Her face was full of cruelty. “Isn’t it?”  


If he could just disarm her… maybe they could talk about this. 

Their weapons clashed again, and she peered at him. “Give it up!” she yelled. “You are fighting a battle you’ve already lost!”

His hands shook where he held her off. “I could say the same for you! Trilla… neither of us will win this. Please.”

“It’s too late for you,” she said, “But me? This is just the beginning!”

“Did you come to that conclusion before or after you ended up in my bed?”

She bared her teeth at him, but his words had struck flesh beneath her hard exterior. Her defense shook. “That meant nothing.”

“We both know that’s not true. Trilla, please.”

Her expression changed. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

He reached a hand out, desperate, and closed it around her wrist. His fingers grazed bare skin where her gloves met her sleeve, and he poured everything through it. He heard the sharp intake of her breath at the contact. He expected her to push him off her the second skin grazed against skin, but she didn’t. She allowed it.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“ _ I don’t care, _ ” he assured.

Cal didn’t leave space for question on every inkling emotion he poured through his psychometry onto her. He would have been ashamed for what he felt for her at some point, but not now. It was everything he’d wanted to show her the night before, and so much more.

Trilla’s eyes glistened. “You don’t  _ know _ —” she began, her voice breaking.

“I don’t need to!” he interjected. “Come back with me. Please.”

She shook her head. “This isn’t about you and I,” she said. “This is so much bigger than the both of us.”

“It doesn’t have to be! Don’t do this. Come back.”

“Don’t you understand? There’s no coming back from what I’ve done.”

“There’s always a chance.”

“Not for me.”

“Always for you,” he breathed. “Please, I… I don’t want to do this without you.”

She faltered, and Cal waited.  _ Please _ . For a glorious, unbelievable moment, he was certain that she would do the impossible. The longing for such courage blazed beneath her skin. And he, desperate, offered one final assurance:  _ You can. _

His heart sank at her unspoken reply.  _ I can’t,  _ her voice ushered through his consciousness.  _ But I don’t expect you to understand. _

Trilla’s face morphed back to indifference, and there was the force of her pushing back against his psychometry. He took his chance. He needed more time to talk to her… to show her that it wasn’t too late.

He switched off his weapon, and the push to her strike gave way, leaving her open for an unprecedented attack. She turned to him in alarm, but Cal had already pulled on the Force around him and launched her into the air. Trilla landed hard, water soaking through her uniform, but her determination hadn’t taken the hit her body had. She reached for her weapon, but Cal was faster. He called upon the weapon, and it responded to his summoning as if it were his own.

Her lightsaber slammed into his hand.

And her pain with it.

Trilla’s kyber crystal sang a song of turmoil. It spread over Cal’s conscience like a tide in an ocean, submerging him in the depths of her agony. Cal stumbled where he stood. Trilla’s figure rose before him, and he watched as the holocron soared into her grip. He fell to his knees, and his own lightsaber slipped from his grip and splashed into the water on the ground. He was sinking farther and farther into the abyss, and there would be no resisting where it took him.

“Careful with that thing…” The words were a taunt, but there was an edge to her voice that spoke nothing of a jeer. The shake in her voice betrayed her to her buried fright. “It's been through hell.”

His final awareness was of Trilla before him before he was collapsing into darkness, but his final thought cut him to the bone:  _ if her pain is enough to drive me to my knees, how could she endure this?  _ There was a strength at the heart of her that he was compounded by. He had been frustrated by her conflict, but he had never thought to consider what a miracle it was that she still battled between two fates when Cal felt he would break in two at a single glimpse of it. 

_ Trilla was in a cavern. A young Rodian gazed up at her with bright, fearful eyes. She cradled the youngling’s face in her hands in comfort, in solidarity, though her hands trembled underneath the gesture. Cal could feel the multitude of emotions roiling within her and how she held them at bay, keeping herself up by the seams when she threatened to fall apart at any moment.  _ I need to be strong for Sahar,  _ Trilla thought.  _

_ Faces of fallen Padawans flashed across her vision from that very day, there one moment and gone the next. In the blink of an eye, in a heartbeat, their lives and hopes and dreams ripped away before her very eyes. Is that what would happen to Sahar, to Cere?  _

_ Her chest ached. Trilla had fought so hard to protect the other younglings among them, alongside Cere, but they had been slaughtered like animals against the clone troopers. She knew there was only so much she could do to protect them, but the guilt washed over her violently. Her hands trembled. She could have done more. _

_ She  _ should  _ have done more. _

_ It had been a miracle that they’d even managed to get to a hiding place, but their luck was fading rapidly. Blaster fire pressed closer and closer to their position, and Cere was already spouting nonsense about luring them away. Sahar was holding close to her like a lifeline, as if Trilla could defy every threat headed their way. She wished she could. Even if it meant sacrificing herself for Sahar, for Cere. _

_ Trilla turned toward her Master and took hold of Cere’s arm. “Don't go!” she pleaded. “We need to stick together.” _

_ “No,” Cere insisted. “I'm going to lure them away, and then I'm going to circle back. Stay with Sahar.” She took a moment to look at her. “Whatever happens, I’m proud of you, Trilla… May the Force be with you.” _

_ And before Trilla could tighten her grip on her Master’s arm, to get her recklessness in control  _ again,  _ Cere was already turning away and running straightforward into danger.  _

_ “Master!” Trilla called after her. “Don't leave us!” _

_ “Trilla?” Sahar called. “What's going to happen?” _

_ Trilla turned her attention to the shaking youngling at her side. She knelt down beside her and held her close. “It's okay,” she assured her, her voice shaky. “It's okay.” _

_ Trilla held onto the Padawan, shielding her as much as she could from the horrifying sounds outside. Sahar trembled like a leaf in her arms, and she did her best to comfort her friend in the midst of danger. But it was clear that Cere’s plan wasn’t working, and they would both die if Trilla didn’t do something to prevent it. _

_ “Hey, listen to me,” Trilla said. “They’re coming, and we are outnumbered, but you can still get out, okay? I’m going to go out there and you’re going to run—“ _

_ “No, Trilla,” Sahar said, clutching at her arm, “they’ll… they’ll—“ _

_ “I know,” Trilla said, “but it’s the only way.”  _

_ “Cere said she’d be back. She said—“ _

_ “We don’t know if she can, Sahar,” she said. “Please, we need to do something.” _

_ Sahar started to cry. “Please, don’t make me go alone. I don’t want to be alone.” _

_ “I-I cant, please, Sahar,” Trilla pleaded, her throat tightening.  _

_ Trilla pulled something from her pocket and pressed it into Sahar’s hands. It was the plush Jedi figurine she’d held close throughout her training, as a comforting reminder of who she wanted to be, and Sahar had always loved holding it close when she allowed it. “Here, take this,” Trilla said. “It’s yours now, okay? Remember who we are. We don’t give up, right?” _

_ Sahar nodded through her tears.  _

_ Trilla nodded and cupped Sahar’s face in her hands again. “We’re gonna be okay, alright, Sahar?” she said. “I’ll make sure of it. Got it?” _

_ Sahar sniffled and nodded again.  _

_ “I need you to run the second I step out there. You run and you don’t look back, no matter what. And you keep running, no matter what you see and hear. You run until it’s quiet. And you hide, and if you can, you get off-world if you’re sure it’s safe. You get far, far away from here.” _

_ Sahar cried harder. _

_ “Sahar, listen to me, please. I know you’re scared, I’m scared too, but this is the only chance we’ve got,” Trilla said. “Promise me you’ll do as I say?” _

_ She nodded. _

_ “Say it.” _

_ “I promise.” _

_ “You’re gonna be okay.” _

_ “What about you?” _

_ “Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be okay.”  _

_ She stood, taking Sahar’s hand in hers, and her free hand closed around the hilt of her lightsaber. She peered out of the cavern, and her heart sank at the hordes of stormtroopers around. She took a deep breath.  _

_ She knew what she had to do.  _

_ She took one final look at Sahar, and her eyes filled with tears as she realized she might never see her fellow Padawan again. “Just like I said, Sahar, okay?” she said as she knelt down. She pulled the youngling into a protective hug, and she wished she could hold the girl in the safety of her arms forever where nothing could ever touch her. Hot tears slipped onto her cheeks. “May the Force be with you.”  _

_ “And with you, Trills.”  _

_ Trilla shut her eyes at the nickname. She pulled away from Sahar. She wiped the tears from the girl’s eyes. “You’re my sister,” she said. “I love you, and Force willing, I’ll be back.”  _

_ Trilla stood.  _

_ She stepped out into the open and her hand slipped from Sahar’s. _

_ She ignited her lightsaber bravely, a bright golden glow breaking through the dimming light. Facing the troops then, she understood that she was clearly out of her mind. She was barely a teenager, and she was facing an army alone.  _

For Sahar. 

_ Trilla walked forward until a stormtrooper took notice of her, raised a cry of alarm, and blaster fire soared her way. She jumped into action, eager to buy Sahar as much time as she might need, and pulled at the press of the Force around her.  _ Don’t let me be alone,  _ she called to whatever would listen.  _

You’re not alone,  _ a voice said back. _

_ Trilla swung her lightsaber in arcs of golden light and cut through blaster fire, again and again. A shot snagged at her shoulder and she cried out at the pain that flamed across her skin, but she didn’t dare relent. She would fight to the end. _

_ But then there were too many of them, and her limited training could only provide her with so much. Her leg gave out from underneath her as a blaster shot made it past her area of defense, and her knee slammed into the ground hard. She held underneath the pain, and as the Force shuddered in warning around her, she turned a moment too late. Something slammed into her head, knocking her off balance, and dirt filled her nostrils as she inhaled at the ground. She coughed, flexing her hand for her lightsaber, but it had slipped from her grasp. She turned her cheek against the ground, hearing a multitude of shouts rising up around her, and something caught her eye ahead of her.  _

_ A tether in time and space… _

_ She sucked in a breath. _

_ Trilla tried to get up, to fight to her last breath, but the last thing she saw was a stormtrooper above her before the butt of their weapon slammed against her head.  _

_ When she came to, Trilla had the innate sense that something was very wrong. Her head was throbbing and her eyelids felt heavy, but she forced her eyes open. She could make out dark floor panels giving way to an abyss of red and a strange lingering feeling. Fear struck her, startling her awake entirely, at the sight of the two stormtroopers before her. She moved, only to find her body braced helplessly against some odd contraption. Machinery moved around her, and Trilla flailed against her restraints as two panels pressed into her, electricity sparking.  _

_ The pain of it was agonizing, white-hot flares cutting through into her very being, relentlessly. There was a terrible sound in the distance, and she realized she was screaming. Trilla grasped desperately at the memories she could, holding them close, as the pain cut through them like daggers. She could feel something valuable inside of her being broken open underneath the pain, and she held as long as she could. She had barely a moment of relief when they resorted to other methods, cutting her open like an animal and healing her, again and again. Between the mutilation and the electricity, Trilla lost all sense of time, all sense of self. _

_ It could have been minutes, hours, months, even years. It all blended the same. And when they were done, all that was left was the few memories she had managed to protect that seemed to lose all meaning. They had carved a new person out of who she’d once been, and no matter what she did or said, they would never let her forget it. And if she did, they would put her back in that torture device to pull her new identity back to the surface. _

_ No longer was she Trilla Suduri in the aftermath. She had been made anew in fire and blood. She was the Second Sister, and she would be another monster for the galaxy to fear.  _

_ Trilla stood before the torture device, Cere’s body confined in its grasp. Her former Master had held up well under the torture, but she was here for the final break necessary. Cere’s eyes found hers, confusion clear on her face, and Trilla smiled. _

Let her see what she’s made of me _ , she thought.  _

_ “Trilla,” Cere breathed. _

_ A stormtrooper stopped beside her and offered her the mask that would define her as the new entity of darkness she was. Cere protested silently in recognition. Trilla ignored the pleas of the woman and took the mask, admiring the finish of it, before placing it over her head. And that was all it took for the world to break open. One moment she had been looking at Cere, trapped in the torture device, and the next, she had been knocked to the ground alongside her troops with her former Master stumbling out of the torn apart contraption.  _

_ The fall had been so brutal that her vision had gone black for a moment, and when she managed to open her eyes, the first thing she glimpsed was Cere’s boots as they stopped before her unmoving body. For a fleeting moment, she thought her former Master would take her up into her arms and escape with her. She found herself hoping for such a saving grace. _

_ Trilla let out a shaky breath and raised her eyes. She could see Cere’s horrified face give her one final glance before she rushed away. The sound of Cere’s footsteps echoed in the chamber as she stalked away from her, and it felt like the loudest sound in the entire galaxy. Trilla was just as horrified as her former Master had been. She could feel it in the air around her, the presence of the dark side harnessed, and the stain of anger and vengeance it left in its wake, crawling down Trilla’s lungs and nearly suffocating her.  _

Don’t leave me here _ , she wanted to choke out, but the words died in her throat.  _

_ Trilla’s body ached. She groaned as she forced herself up, wincing as she pulled herself to her feet, but the pain was minuscule compared to everything else she’d endured. The torture chamber was practically in ruins, and each one of her troops were dead.  _

_ Except for her. Cere had spared her. And she had left her behind, again. _

_ And for the first time, Trilla realized she was truly alone and, unbearably, that she always would be. _

_ Trilla turned at the tug of something more in the Force, something she recognized, and something Cal did, too. There was a ripple in the atmosphere around her. Dread filled her, but she took hold of the lightsaber at her side. Cal found himself leaning toward the truth he’d find in the moment, but suddenly, the vision blurred away. He pressed toward it.  _ Show me, _ he pleaded.  _

Not yet, _ it seemed to respond. _

_ The vision changed.  _

_ Trilla is on a different planet, heavy fog clouding the atmosphere, with her lightsaber heavy in her hand. She stared down at her latest victim who would die at her hand in mere moments — Sahar. The Jedi doll shifted in the slight wind beside Sahar. She had given everything to save her, had delivered herself into enemy hands, only to become the very enemy she had been trying to help the youngling escape. Cal could feel the harsh ache in her chest, the lump in her throat, the burn in her eyes at what she has to do.  _

_ Trilla didn’t want to do this, but her hands were tied and she didn’t have a choice.  _

_ Trilla swung her weapon down, and Cal felt that crack leftover from the Empire’s torture break open inside of her. It felt like it cut through him, breaking open something of his own. Suddenly, the night on Ilum — her anger, her eagerness for control, and the way it crashed afterward — slid into focus. How had she been able to mask such a terrible event so easily? _

_ The memory hid nothing from him, and every sliver of emotion that passed over Trilla passed over him, too. It made him want to tear down the Empire with his bare hands.  _

_ And then, Trilla was in his quarters on the Mantis, pressing her lips against his. The fear is there — the uncertainty of what this meant, the shiver at being touched for the first time in years, the vulnerability of it all — but she choked it down with her anger. She couldn’t let herself think too deeply about this, she knew she would stop it if she did. Instead, she let herself go within his touch and attempted to grasp at any semblance of control she could garner here. Her day on Ontotho and her years as an Inquisitor were made against her, to control her.  _

_ But here, with Cal in her arms, with the hungry look in his eyes, Trilla could finally taste control again. It was invigorating, like a breath of fresh air. And Cal — beautiful, wonderful Cal — caved and let her have it. _

_ But even Cal wouldn’t be enough to give her true peace.  _

_ And then, there was something else pressing into his awareness. From the shift in the atmosphere around him, Cal knew he had ventured somewhere farther than Trilla’s memories. He could still feel the familiar warmth of her presence. _

_ Cal was shrouded by darkness. A figure appeared before him, on their hands and knees, and his heart stopped when he realized who it was from the crimson glow of the mask that split through the dark. She was injured, he realized, by the quick pace of her breath and the desperate gasps between them and the hand that clutched her side. Blood stained her hands where she grasped her midsection. A piece of her mask slipped away, exposing her true face beneath, and there was no anger in it. Her face was overtaken by fear, by sorrow, and it became even more defined by the light that appeared across her face. _

_ A light that he realized was emanating from  _ him. 

_ “Trilla?” _

_ Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones. He needed to get her out of here, and he didn’t know how or why, but he knew it as well as anything else.  _

_ Her face looked too resolute, too final.  _

_ Too much like a goodbye.  _

When he opened his eyes, Trilla was gone, the holocron and his heart with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots still left on the horizon... 👀


End file.
